


I Will Wait

by pocketmumbles (livelikejack)



Series: Derek/Scott Mythology Trifecta [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Background Character Death, F/F, M/M, Minor Character Death, Trojan War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 59,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livelikejack/pseuds/pocketmumbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott goes to Sparta to vie for Danny’s hand in marriage because, well, why not. He expects to be impressed by the suitors’ gifts (he is), and he expects to have to pull Stiles out of at least one fight before things get ugly (he does), and he expects Danny’s beauty to leave them all speechless when he finally appears (it does).</p><p>What he doesn’t expect is to notice the companions at Danny’s side, especially the one who leans in to mutter into Danny’s ear and spark a laugh as sweet as bells from the young man. “Who’s that?” he asks Stiles.</p><p>“Um, that one is…one of Talia’s kids, I think? Something that starts with a D? Darren? Darryl! No, wait, I remember, that’s, uh, that’s Derek.”</p><p>“Derek,” Scott repeats softly. The man turns his way, as if hearing him, and glances at him curiously before laughing with Danny. Scott looks away, ears burning, and thinks, uh-oh.</p><p>He expected a lot when he came to Sparta. But he never expected Derek.</p><p>(Or, the Greek Mythology AU where Scott is Odysseus and Derek is Penelope, tracking their story from their first meeting, through the Trojan War, and the long journey home. See notes for full cast list.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> [**Full cast list.**](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com/post/97926720096/whos-who-in-i-will-wait-aka-my-scerek) Not every character from _The Iliad_ and _The Odyssey_ are included, since I took some narrative liberties. 
> 
> The major/minor character deaths are consistent with the epic poems and generally-agreed-upon history. Therefore, Scott and Derek are both alive and well at the end of the story, but not everyone in the characters tags are. Check the cast list; if you know the stories, you know who dies.
> 
> This fic takes a pro-Helen, pro-Helen/Menelaus, and anti-Paris stance. It mostly follows the stories of the epic poems, but do deviate with some plot points and characters.
> 
> Originally posted as a WIP on [Tumblr](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com/post/97926664778/i-will-wait-part-1). The chapters there include story notes about the original mythology/TV show canon, but have been omitted from this version for brevity's sake.

Scott goes to Sparta to vie for Danny’s hand in marriage because, well, why not. Practically everyone else is; he might as well see what all the fuss is about. They say that Danny is the most beautiful in all the land, which is nice, Scott supposes. It seems awfully subjective, and it’s not like Scott’s ever met anyone who’s actually seen Danny’s legendary beauty, so. So he goes to Sparta.

There are dozens of suitors, all bearing gifts more elaborate than the last. Stiles cranes his head around Scott, presumably looking for something other than his completely empty hands. “Seriously?” he says. “You didn’t bring anything?”

Scott shrugs. “It’s not like I would’ve had a chance, anyway,” he says. “I just want to see what happens. And, y’know, see what exactly counts as the most beautiful face in the world.”

“I heard that when he smiles, the clouds part and birds sing,” Stiles says.

“I heard that you’re a moron who should quit while you’re ahead,” a voice cuts in. They turn to watch Aiden saunter past them, carrying a massive chest on his shoulder. He flicks his eyes over them disparagingly. “Relatively speaking.”

“Yeah, sure, laugh it up while you can, Aiden,” Stiles calls as Aiden walks away. “That guy’s a dick. I wish his brother had come instead.”

“Ethan’s not here?”

“Nah, he sent Aiden to negotiate for him,” Stiles says, wrinkling his nose. “I mean, I get that, that’s cool or whatever. I just really don’t like Aiden.”

“Stiles, you don’t really like anyone.”

“Yeah, but Aiden, man. He’s just…ugh. Whatever, let’s get going.”

Scott expects the feasts and tournaments, the posturing from all the suitors and polite, non-committal demurring from Danny’s father. He expects to be impressed by the suitors’ gifts (he is), and he expects to have to pull Stiles out of at least one fight before things get ugly (he does), and he expects Danny’s beauty to leave them all speechless when he finally appears (it does).

What he doesn’t expect is to notice the companions at Danny’s side, especially the one who leans in to mutter into Danny’s ear and spark a laugh as sweet as bells from the young man. “Who’s that?” he asks Stiles.

Stiles looks at Scott, then up at Danny, then back at Scott. “…Are you serious?” he says finally. “That’s Danny, most beautiful guy in the entire world and the reason we’re all stuck in this dumb pissing match right now.”

“No, I know _that_ ,” Scott huffs. “I mean, who’s that next to him?”

“I dunno, all his family looks the same to me,” Stiles says, shrugging. “Um, that one is…one of Talia’s kids, I think? Something that starts with a D? Darren? Darryl! No, wait, I remember, that’s, uh, that’s Derek.”

“Derek,” Scott repeats softly. The man turns his way, as if hearing him, and glances at him curiously before laughing with Danny. Scott looks away, ears burning, and thinks, _uh-oh_.

He expected a lot when he came to Sparta. But he never expected Derek.

 

* * *

 

“This is ridiculous,” Danny says, flopping onto the couch dramatically. “Why are there so _many_.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at his cousin. “Your father is the king of the gods, and whoever marries you will become king of Sparta,” he says. “I can appreciate the appeal, there.”

Danny rolls over and makes a face at him. “They weren’t even that cute.”

“They weren’t _all_ that bad,” Derek says. “The one from Argos, you know, he’s pretty young, at least.”

“Wow, so promising,” Danny deadpans. “Just what I want, a young idiot husband to run Sparta into the ground.” He pauses. “Did he bring anything nice?”

Derek throws a pillow at him. “ _Shallow_.”

“Hey, that’s the best I’m going to get out of this!” Danny says. “If I have to marry someone who only cares about how nice my face looks, then I better at least get some nice things out of it.”

“Your father’s not accepting any of the gifts,” Derek points out.

“I _know_.” Danny rolls his eyes. “What did he think was going to happen? Invite the most powerful rulers from all over the world to fight over a nice little prize, and then panic when they actually start _fighting over the nice little prize_.” He flips onto his back, arms crossed. “It’s not even that I want to love whoever I marry. I just don’t want to be their prize.”

Derek sits down and lifts his head into his lap. “You’ve always been more than a prize,” he says, petting Danny’s hair gently. “You’re smarter than our tutors, and you always kick my ass when we wrestle.”

“You’re faster than me, though,” Danny says. “I never could beat you in a race.”

“Hey, I gotta have _something_ I can beat you at. You got the beauty _and_ the brains, let me have this.”

Danny cheers up when the athletic games begin the next day, sitting next to Derek to watch and laughing at the losers. “Did you see the way that one fell out of his chariot when his horses crashed? Pathetic.” He sneers down at the suitors preparing for the wrestling match; they seem to interpret it as a smile, since they beam back at him. “I wish I could compete. Add some Spartan excellence to this mess.”

“They’re not from here,” Derek reminds him. “They’d probably see it as an insult to literally get their ass kicked by their future groom.”

“Aiden lived here for a few years, he’d…” Danny trails off, exchanging glances with Derek. “Okay, Aiden wouldn’t. But if Ethan were here, he’d respect my kicking his ass. Probably.”

“Too bad he isn’t here,” Derek says. He gets to his feet, stretching leisurely. “You’re right, though. We need some Spartan excellence in these games. I’m entering the footrace.”

Danny grins. “If you lose, I’m disowning you as my cousin.”

He wins easily, of course. The others may be kings and princes of their lands, but they aren’t _Spartans_. Derek crosses the finish line neatly and spins around to watch the suitors stagger after him.

Surprisingly, the man who comes in second jogs to a stop next to him with a grin. He isn’t doubled over like the others, and he’s barely even panting. Derek raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re not even trying.”

The man takes a few deep breaths before answering. “Well, neither did you, and you still smoked us.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Derek says. “I’ve been watching you. You’re the one who came empty-handed.”

He follows Derek out of the arena, smiling for some reason. “You’ve been watching me?”

“Yeah, because you’re wasting everyone’s time,” Derek says. “You didn’t bring anything, you haven’t tried to offer _anything_ for my cousin’s hand, and this is the only competition you entered.” He pauses, confused. “Why’d you even bother with this one?”

“Because you did,” the man says, shrugging. “I thought I’d try my hand racing a true Spartan.”

Derek snorts. “If you’re trying to get me to put in a good word for you with my uncle, it’s not going to work. This whole thing is such a mess, I don’t think he’ll ever choose anyone at all.”

“Huh,” the man says. “Well, that’s a bummer, I guess.”

“Yeah, like you even care. Tell me, what color is my cousin’s hair?”

The man scoffs. “Black, obviously.”

“And his eyes?”

“Green.” Derek raises an eyebrow. “But sometimes they look more blue.” He raises his other eyebrow. “A sort of…seawater hazel?”

“Those are my eyes.”

“Yeah, I actually know those,” the man says happily. “I figured you’d probably have the same eye color, since you’re related and all.”

“So you haven’t been paying attention to my cousin at all, is what you’re saying.”

“Not really,” he says. “I actually-”

“Then why are you even here?”

The man steps back, brow creased. “Why are you so angry at me? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“That’s why I’m angry at you! You haven’t done _anything_ at all!” Derek spits. “You’re treating this like it’s…entertainment. Meanwhile, my uncle’s worried about sparking a _war_ , and my cousin’s going to get handed off like a laurel leaf to whoever comes out on top.” He crosses his arms. “Yeah. I can see how this is all _so_ entertaining. Maybe you can continue to stand around and do nothing while your fellow suitors tear my cousin apart in all the fighting.”

The man blinks. “I’m not going to be able to win with you, am I?” He shakes his head. “Listen, I haven’t been trying very hard-”

“At all,” Derek corrects.

“-because I know I don’t have a chance anyway. Even if I brought gifts, they’d be so small compared to what the others have to offer. I just came to see Sparta. Thought I might find something interesting here.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint you,” Derek says brusquely, turning to leave.

“I met you, didn’t I?”

In spite of himself, Derek turns back around. “Nice try,” he says. “But we both know my cousin’s the real prize. I’m just here as a consolation.”

“Consolation?” the man repeats, brow furrowed.

“Yeah, for one of the losers,” Derek says, shrugging. “Married to the ‘cousin of the most beautiful face in the world’ doesn’t really have the same ring to it, but it’s better than nothing, I guess.”

“Oh.” The man frowns to himself. “But…you’re okay with that?” Derek shrugs again. “Who would you choose for yourself, if you could?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Derek says. “I don’t have any say in it, so why bother trying?” The man chuckles, and Derek closes his eyes briefly. “I sound just like you right now, don’t I.”

“A little bit,” the man says. He sits down against the wall, patting the ground next to him. “But, hey. You know me, now, and I know the other suitors.”

Derek sits next to him warily. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh.” He blinks in surprise. “I’m Scott. From Ithaca. Anyway, I know the other suitors, so if there’s anyone you want to…or, well, I could just give you the rundown on all of them so you know what you’re getting into.”

Derek hums absently. “Scott. That’s a nice name.”

Scott ducks his head, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Uh, thanks. Your name’s nice, too.”

“Daniel’s nicer.” He tilts his head back with a sigh. “Tell me about Ithaca.”

It’s comforting, to get lost in the cadence of Scott’s voice while the sun melts below the horizon. Derek can’t help but be charmed by the way Scott’s eyes light up as he talks about his home with its forested mountains and clustered islands. He’s never been to the sea, but he can feel the sandy shores that Scott describes, taste the salty breezes and hear the cawing gulls.

Well, maybe. He doesn’t really know what a gull sounds like, after all. But when Scott tells him about watching the sun set into the sea itself, his eyes sparkling in a far-off gaze, Derek feels his heart clench. Scott starts waving his hands around when he gets too excited to contain himself, and Derek doesn’t realize how close he’s moved until one of them hits his chin.

“Sorry!” Scott says quickly, eyes crinkling with mirth, and Derek can’t help but laugh along with him. He bats Scott’s hands away and jumps to his feet. “Race with me.”

Scott scrambles after him. “What?”

“Race with me,” Derek says. “For real, this time. I want to see how good you are when you actually try.”

Scott glances around the empty courtyard. “It’s completely dark out.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so you’re admitting defeat already?”

Scott’s eyes widen, and then he marches determinedly to the wall, placing one hand against it. “From this wall to that statue and back,” he says, pointing across the courtyard. He picks up a pebble from the ground. “We start when this hits the ground.” Derek nods, dropping into a crouch against the wall, and Scott tosses the pebble into the air.

It hits the ground with a crack that cuts across the silent courtyard, and Derek’s feet fly off the ground. He paces himself easily and glances over at Scott once, taken aback by the sheer concentration on his face. Derek doesn’t falter, or stumble, or do anything but keep running as steadily as any Spartan would, but he’s surprised. Scott always had a smile playing around his eyes and lifting the corners of his mouth, but now, with his brows snapped together and his eyes narrowed towards his goal…Derek would shiver, if that wouldn’t disrupt the task at hand. They round the statue at the same time, and as the wall nears, Derek puts on a last burst of speed that sends him slamming against the wall a heartbeat before Scott does.

He turns with a laugh, allowing himself to slump against the wall and catch his breath. “Now _that_ was a race.”

Scott nods faintly, hands braced on his knees as he gulps for air. “Yeah,” he gasps. “Good-” he coughs. “Good race.” He drops to his knees, chest heaving as he gags.

Derek laughs. “I think I like you like this,” he says.

“What?” Scott sits back, squinting up at him. “Hacking up a lung on my knees in front of you?”

“No,” Derek says. “Well, actually, now that you mention it, on your knees is a good look for you.” Scott huffs a laugh. “But I meant you when you actually try.”

Scott slowly rises to his feet, ignoring the hand Derek holds out. Good. “I lost, though.”

“Yeah, you’re no Spartan,” Derek says with a grin. He glances up at the dark sky and sighs. “I should go.”

“Derek!” He turns to see Scott jogging after him. “If it could be me,” Scott says, “would you want that?”

He blinks, then looks away. “Doesn’t matter. It won’t be you.”

Scott grabs his hand. “I just want to know,” he says. “I don’t care about my chances with your mother or your uncle. I just want to know what my chances would’ve been with you.”

Derek stares at the ground, slowly crushing Scott’s hand in his. Scott doesn’t flinch. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I could’ve wanted that.” He lets go, not daring to look at Scott’s face, and melts into the night.

 

“Okay,” Danny says as he barrels into the room. “So, I’ve got good news and bad news.”

Derek sits up. “What’s the bad news?”

“Well, the good news is, I’m getting married!” Danny says cheerfully instead of actually answering him. He grabs Derek’s hand and tugs him out of the room.

Derek blinks. “That’s the _good_ news? What’s the bad news? And where are we going?”

“Yeah,” Danny says, pulling Derek along at a jog. “One of the suitors suggested to my dad that he make everyone swear to defend whoever he chooses. So, yay, no fighting, and I’m all set to marry Ethan just like Dad wanted in the first place.”

“Danny.” Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tell me the bad news.”

“Well,” Danny says, and then slows to a stop at a balcony overlooking the arena. Derek automatically stops further back, but Danny pushes him forward as cheers erupt from the suitors down below. “Danny,” Derek says slowly, “why are they all staring at me?”

“Yeah,” Danny says awkwardly, waving at the suitors with a smile. “That’s the thing. Um, the suitor who suggested the oath asked my dad a favor, which, y’know, is pretty fair considering he neatly dodged all the impending bloodshed. But, uh, see, that favor was, well.”

Derek looks down at the arena, where his mother stands at the starting line. “Oh, no.”

“He probably won’t beat her,” Danny says quickly. “I mean, Talia’s a champion racer. No one can beat her in a footrace.”

“I can,” Derek says.

“Well, you can’t exactly marry yourself.” Danny claps his shoulder. “Really, though, I wouldn’t worry about it. Everyone’s just here because it’s always a treat to watch Talia of Sparta race.”

Derek watches his mother smirk at the cheering crowd. “I don’t get it,” he says. “Why would your father offer me? I’m just your cousin; he won’t gain much land or power from marrying me.”

“Yeah, I mean, my dad was all set to offer one of my siblings,” Danny says. “But, uh, the suitor asked for you specifically, actually.”

“Oh.” Derek watches the suitor step up to the starting line amidst jeers from the crowd. His head turns to the balcony, and Derek’s mouth falls open as he finds himself staring into Scott’s eyes. “ _Oh_.”

“Oh?” Danny repeats, glancing back and forth between them. “Hey, seriously, Derek, don’t worry. He can’t marry you unless he wins the race, and no one but you can win against Talia.”

“Scott can,” Derek says, still caught in his gaze. “If he really wants it, he can win. I know he can.”

“Oh,” Danny says. “Well, shit.”

“I want him to win.”

_“What?”_ Danny grabs Derek by the shoulder, spinning him away from Scott. “Derek, you want to marry _that_ guy? He’s the one who came here empty-handed. He didn’t try to impress my father at all.”

“And yet he ended up impressing your father the most out of everyone,” Derek says. “He’s clever when he actually puts his mind to it.”

“Okay, so he’s not a total idiot,” Danny says. “But. You’re okay with _marrying_ him?”

He looks back down at Scott, who watches him with a hesitant half-smile. Derek nods, and Scott’s smile blossoms across his face. “I could do worse.”

Scott crosses the finish line several paces ahead of Derek’s mother, bending to catch his breath while shocked gasps and raucous cheers echo around him. When he straightens, he doesn’t look to the crowd, or to the suitor running up to congratulate him, or even to Derek’s mother. He lifts his head straight to the balcony where Derek stands, beaming up at him.

Derek smiles back and nods towards his approaching mother. Scott turns around to shake his mother’s hand and is quickly swallowed up by the crowd. “I don’t get why you’re okay with this,” Danny rants as he leads them back to their rooms. “Our parents just handed you over like a _prize_. He literally won you in a race!”

“My mom’s had that dumb rule in place for ages,” Derek says dismissively. “It’s her own fault someone finally managed to beat it. But prizes have value, Danny. I don’t.”

“Derek, don’t sell yourself short like that. You-”

“ _Bargaining value_ , Danny. Aside from a spouse, what would Scott gain from marrying me?”

“The power of Sparta,” Danny says promptly.

“You’re the future ruler, and you have siblings,” Derek says. “If it was power he wanted, he’d marry one of them instead of just a cousin.”

Danny taps his chin. “Wealth.”

“He’s already a king.”

“You’re pretty good-looking.” Derek stares at him, unimpressed. “Okay, fine. Uh, connections? Sort of?” He sighs in exasperation. “I give up. Just go ahead and make your point.”

“I don’t have anything to offer, but he asked for me anyway,” Derek says. “He doesn’t want me as a prize; he just wants me as…me.” He smiles. “I mean, did you see the way he looked for me after the race? Not to my mom for her approval; he just looked for me. And when he was telling me about his home, you should’ve seen…” He stops, turning around when he realizes Danny isn’t walking next to him anymore. “Danny?”

Danny looks stricken. Devastated, even. “I…” he says slowly, then shakes his head, catching up to Derek with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I saw the way he looked at you. What a sap. Clearly, you’re meant for each other.”

Derek shoves him. “Clearly.” He drops onto a couch, tucking his hands behind his head. “You’ll help me with my wedding, right? I want it to be traditional.”

“Like I said, _sap_. Yeah, of course.” He spreads out on his stomach. “Just like you’ll help me with mine when Ethan gets here. Well, he might want some other weird wedding. Who knows what they do in Mycenae.”

“He’s going to rule Sparta; he’ll go with our traditions,” Derek says. He grins. “Scott’s going to be _so_ confused.”

“Oh, no,” Danny mutters. “You’re scheming for your _wedding?_ ”

“There’s a reason I’m asking you out of everyone.”

Danny’s mouth drops open, and he swats Derek’s arm indignantly. “And here I thought you loved me as your loyal cousin and friend to help you in this delicate time.” He rolls onto his back, fingers tapping together. “You think Ethan’ll ever look at me like that?”

He says it so quietly that, for a moment, Derek thinks he only imagined the words. When he looks over, Danny just stares casually at the ceiling. The barest tightness in the corner of his jaw gives him away. “Like how?” Derek asks.

“The way Scott looks at you,” Danny says. “Like he doesn’t see any of that other stuff. Just… _you_.” He scoffs. “Sorry, I’m being stupid. What did you want me to help with for your crazy wedding schemes?”

“Just a little something,” Derek says. He pauses, then adds, “And I think you and Ethan will get there one day.”

Danny glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “You think?”

He nods firmly. “You will.”

 

* * *

 

“For the record, I think this is crazy,” Danny says. He closes the circle of mountain ash and steps back with a frown. “This is crazy and you are crazy, and I still don’t really get why you’re doing this.”

Derek sits down on the pallet. “I just want to see what he’ll do.”

“Nothing,” Danny says, waving his hands. “He won’t be able to do _anything_. He can’t step through mountain ash, _just like you_.”

“Yeah, but how he reacts matters,” Derek says. “It’ll say something about his character.”

“And meanwhile, you’re stuck in this circle for the entire night,” Danny says. “I thought you actually wanted to marry this guy.”

“I do, and I will,” Derek says. “But I want to get to know him, too. He’s still young, so I’ll only get to see him at night.” He shrugs. “I just want to try to find some more time, you know?”

“By trapping yourself in a circle of mountain ash,” Danny says flatly. “Derek, you’re my cousin and I love you, but this has got to be the worst wedding I’ve ever heard of.” He frowns. “Does this even technically count as a wedding anymore?”

Derek thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “You know, I don’t actually know. But it’s close enough.”

“Most guys wouldn’t see it that way.”

“Hence the mountain ash circle,” Derek says, pointing around him. “I don’t want to marry most guys.”

Danny sighs. “I’ll be back to break you out of here in the morning. Are you sure you don’t want me to come back sooner?”

“Not until the sun rises,” Derek says firmly. “I want to see what Scott does.”

“Okay,” Danny says, lips pursed. He hesitates, then steps across the mountain ash line and hugs him. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay? I mean, stupider than you already have, which is pretty stupid.”

“I’ll be fine, Danny,” Derek says, patting his back. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”

“Yeah, your super exciting wedding night of sitting inside a circle of mountain ash,” Danny says dryly. “I can’t wait to hear all the details.” He steps back outside the circle. “I’ll be back as soon as the sun comes up.”

Derek lies back on the pallet as Danny leaves and the sun disappears below the horizon. He stares up at the ceiling, waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and waits.

He barely hears Scott’s footsteps before he enters the room. It’s impressive, he admits. He wouldn’t have expected an outsider to walk so quietly. Derek doesn’t move from his spot on the pallet, just listens closely to the near-silent pads of Scott’s feet as he creeps across the floor. “Hey, Derek,” Scott whispers, leaning closer, and…

…falls face-first against the mountain ash barrier. Derek sits up, schooling his face into a neutral expression even as Scott’s smile fades comically into confusion. “Um,” Scott says. He puts a hand out carefully, feeling along the barrier, and his brows crease further. “Did I miss this part about Spartan weddings?”

“No,” Derek says. “I added it.”

Scott crouches down to the floor, inspecting the neat line of ash running in a perfect circle around Derek’s pallet. “Okay,” he says slowly. “What is this?”

“Mountain ash. Keeps me in and you out, basically.”

“Wait, you’re stuck in there?” Scott all but shouts. He glances around quickly and lowers his voice. “How are you going to get out? Who put you in here?”

“Someone’s coming by to let me out when the sun comes up,” Derek says. “It was my idea. I’m perfectly safe.”

“Okay, if you say so,” Scott says warily. He finishes pacing the circle, shrugs, and sits down in front of Derek. “What’s your favorite color?”

He leans back, thrown off by the non sequitur. “What?”

“Your favorite color,” Scott repeats. “You said you’re stuck there until the sun comes up, so I’ll keep you company ‘till then.” He pauses. “…Unless this is your way of telling me to leave and never come back.”

Derek stares at him. “I, uh,” Scott says, fidgeting under his gaze. “It’s really dark, and I can’t see you well enough to get a read on your face right now.”

“I never said I wanted you to leave.”

“So…you _do_ want me to stay?” Scott asks. He sighs when Derek doesn’t answer. “Derek, it’s okay if you want me to leave. I’m not going to do anything that you don’t want me to do.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I just can’t actually read your mind, so I kind of need you to tell me.”

Derek looks down. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Okay,” Scott says easily. “So, what’s your favorite color?”

“Pink,” Derek says, naming the first color he thinks of. “You don’t…you’re not upset?”

“Oh yeah, like pink apple blossoms in the spring, or maybe like the colors of a sunset,” Scott says. “Yeah, I like that, too. Why would I be upset?”

“Because,” Derek says, gesturing at the barrier between them. “I cut off the most important part of the wedding.”

“No one else is gonna know,” Scott says with a shrug. “We’re spending the night together, isn’t that what matters?”

Derek tries to fight the smile creeping onto his face, then gives in. He ducks his head. “Pink isn’t really my favorite color,” he mumbles. “I, uh, I don’t really have one.”

“That’s cool, there’s tons of colors out there. It’s hard to pick just one.” Scott leans back on his hands, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Mine’s green, I think.”

“Green?”

“Yeah, but not, like, forest green. Like, when the blue of the ocean mixes in with the shore and it gets all frothy on the rocks? That sort of green. Seafoam green.”

Derek tries and fails to imagine what foamy green water would look like. It sounds kind of disgusting, honestly. “I don’t know what that looks like.”

Scott tilts his head at him, and even in the dark, Derek can see the gentle curve of his smile. “Look in the mirror some time.”

His face burns, and he hopes the darkness hides it enough. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, really, your eyes _are_ seafoam green,” Scott says earnestly. “Well, sometimes. Other times they’re more blue, just like the ocean. Hidden depths.” He scoots closer until his knees press against the barrier. “That’s one of the first things I noticed about you.”

“My eyes?” Derek asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“No,” Scott says. “I mean, yes, that too. But you always came off as so unassuming next to Danny-”

“Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel special.”

“-but you always had something to say to make him laugh,” Scott continues. “You know, when we met, I offered to tell you about the other suitors, and I thought you didn’t take me up on it because you didn’t want to know. But it wasn’t that. You already had everyone figured out.”

“I didn’t have you figured out,” Derek says. He twists his mouth. “Actually, I still don’t.”

“See, we make a good couple already. We both like a challenge.”

“But only when it’s worth our time.”

“Yeah.” Scott nods, then frowns, then nods again. “Why…why’d you agree to marry me?”

“You outraced my mother; that’s all that matters.”

“No, but you nodded at me,” Scott says. “Before the race started. I looked for you, and you nodded. You wanted me to race for you.”

“I wanted you to _win_ ,” Derek corrects. He sits up straighter. “When I wanted to race you, you almost beat me. When I wanted my cousin to get married without any more fighting, you figured out a compromise. And I know that you heard me when I said I wanted you to win against my mother, and you did.”

“So you’re marrying me because you know I’ll do things for you?”

“Scott, you half-assed your way through this entire pissing match and then you came up with the perfect solution exactly when you wanted to,” Derek says. “You’re a lot smarter than you let on. When you actually make an effort, you’re unstoppable.”

“I still lost when I raced you.”

“I said you’re unstoppable, not perfect,” Derek says. Scott chuckles. “When you put your mind to something, you can do anything. And I know you’ll do that for me.” Scott nods. “But that’s not why I’m marrying you.”

He tilts his head. “Why, then?”

“When you told me about Ithaca. Your home,” Derek says. “Scott, I don’t even have a favorite color. I’m proud to be a Spartan, but I don’t…I wouldn’t be able to talk about it the way you do. But you, you care about yours so much. And not because it’s the best or the strongest, but just because it’s…yours.” He shrugs. “I want that.”

Scott stares at him for a long moment. “Oh,” he says softly, lost in thought. He looks up with a cheeky grin. “So you’re marrying me for my sweet islands, then.”

Derek laughs. “Yes, Scott. I’m marrying you for your sweet islands. As soon as we get there, I’m getting remarried and kicking you out of your own kingdom.”

Scott doesn’t laugh, and for a terrible moment, Derek thinks he missed the joke. “You want to go to Ithaca, then?” Scott asks. “You want to live there?”

“Yeah, of course I do,” Derek says. “It’s your home.”

“But Talia said-”

“She doesn’t get to choose where I live,” Derek says. “Or who I marry. I chose you, and I’m choosing Ithaca.” He rests a hand against the barrier, ignoring the tingling along his fingers. “I’ve made a terrible mistake,” he says, laughing helplessly. “I really want to touch you right now, but I can’t.”

Scott presses his hand into the barrier, as if he could somehow reach through the small but solid gap between their hands. “I really want to touch you, too,” he says. “But there’ll always be tomorrow night, and the night after that, and the night after that-”

“-and then even the daytime, too, when we go home,” Derek says happily. “I never was very fond of that tradition, here.”

“Home,” Scott repeats with a soft smile. He leans closer. “I like how it sounds when you say that.”

“I do, too.” He grins as Scott’s fingers wind through his. “I-” Derek freezes as his brain catches up to him, and stares at Scott’s hand on his side of the barrier. “…What,” he manages, and then Scott falls the rest of the way through the barrier with a undignified squeak.

“Um,” Scott mumbles from his faceplant into Derek’s lap. “Was that supposed to happen?”

Derek stares at the mountain ash blown out of the circle, passing his hand over the broken line. “I thought none of your parents were gods?”

“They’re not?” Scott tries. “I mean, I’ve never been able to cross mountain ash before.” He sits up and accidentally shoves the side of his hand into the broken line. “Shit! Ow, okay, that burned.”

Derek takes his hand. Even in the dark, he can see the reddened skin from touching the mountain ash. “You shouldn’t have been able to do that,” he says. “What…how did you…”

“I don’t know,” Scott says. He winces as Derek runs a finger along the side of his hand. “I just…I wanted to get to you, so I did.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Derek says. “You can will yourself into crossing mountain ash, but you can’t even beat me in a footrace.”

“Well, you said yourself, I’m not perfect,” Scott says, shrugging. “And maybe I _can_ beat you, now.”

“Doubtful.” Derek kisses his hand carefully, then leans in to press their lips together. Scott opens up eagerly for him, leaning into Derek’s touch as he tilts Scott’s head to deepen the kiss. “I thought,” Scott gasps when they break apart for air, “I thought you just wanted to talk tonight.”

Derek kisses his way across Scott’s jaw and down his throat. “Yeah, that was before you broke through a line of mountain ash just to get to me.” He sinks his teeth into the crook of his neck, grinning when Scott hisses and clutches him tighter. “Change of plans. We’re getting married _right now_.”

Scott laughs breathlessly as Derek pushes him down onto the pallet. He drags his hands up Derek’s thighs and slips under his tunic. “I like the sound of that.” He surges up, sliding Derek’s legs around his waist. “Not here, though. I’m supposed to take you to your bed, aren’t I?”

Derek groans as Scott stands, his arms locked tight around his legs. “You’ve been paying attention to Spartan traditions.”

“Well, of course.” Scott sets him down on the bed and kneels in front of him, running a hand down his face. “They’re important to you.”

Derek stares at him. “You’re…” He trails off and pulls him closer instead. “You’re ridiculous,” he says between kisses. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m yours,” Scott murmurs against his lips, and the words set a fire in his gut. He rips Scott’s tunic off, tugging at his own until Scott slides it off with a soft laugh, and pulls him down onto the bed.

Scott leans over him, kissing his way down his neck as he straddles Derek’s hips. His hand glides down Derek’s arm, wrapping around his wrist, and then – and then he sits back, leaning up and away from Derek as he presses a kiss to the palm of his hand. Derek frowns, prevented from sitting up by the hand on his chest. “What are you doing?”

He trails his lips from Derek’s palm to his wrist, flicking his tongue over the soft skin. Derek shivers. “I want to know everything about you,” Scott says, lips brushing against the inside of his arm. He kisses the crook of Derek’s elbow and traces his way up his shoulder. “Every part of you.” He kisses his way across Derek’s collarbone, sucking hard at the hollow of his throat. Derek arches against him, clapping a hand over the moan that escapes from his mouth.

“I wish I could hear you,” Scott whispers as he trails down the other arm. “When we have our own house, I want you to be as loud as you want. I want to hear everything.”

“When we’re home,” Derek says.

Scott’s eyes drag up to his face, smiling softly as he presses a kiss to their entwined fingers. “When we’re home.” He leans down for a deep kiss, then pulls out of Derek’s grip. Derek whines. _“Scott.”_

“I said every part of you,” Scott says cheekily, dropping his mouth to Derek’s chest. Derek writhes as Scott trails feather-light kisses across his ribs and nuzzles into the sensitive skin below his navel. His eyes slide shut, losing himself in the soft press of Scott’s lips on his skin, nipping and sucking and licking his way all over Derek’s body. When Scott finally presses his mouth to the base of his cock, Derek lets out a shout so loud it echoes through the room.

Scott’s head jerks up, eyes comically wide as they listen for movement from further in the house. They slowly look back at each other before dissolving into frantically shushed laughter. “You have to be quieter,” Scott whispers.

“Easy for you to say,” Derek whispers back. He pushes Scott back down, leaning back with both hands clapped over his mouth. He tries to swallow down his moans as Scott licks his way up his cock, kissing the tip before wrapping his lips around it and sucking hard.

Derek bites down on his lip, hips rocking up into Scott’s mouth. Scott hums around him, sliding further down, and Derek whimpers, flinging an arm wide to clutch at the sheets. The bone of his wrist collides with something hard, and he hisses reflexively.

Scott pulls off immediately. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Derek cranes his neck down to gape at him, biting back a groan at the trail of spit leading from Scott’s mouth. “Why’d you stop?”

“You flinched.” Scott wipes his mouth. “Did I-”

“No, you’re fine, you’re _great_ ,” Derek says quickly. He shakes his head. “I just – hit something with my wrist.” He digs through Scott’s tunic and pulls out a small bottle of olive oil. “…Oh.”

“Uh, don’t worry about that,” Scott says, looking down awkwardly. Derek can’t really tell in the darkness, but he’s probably blushing. “It’s – my friend gave it to me as a joke, we don’t have to-”

Derek tugs him up for a kiss, petting his burning face softly. “I want to.”

“You.” Scott swallows. He shakes his head. “Really, it’s okay if you-” Derek uncaps the bottle and pours into Scott’s hand. “…Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Derek says, punctuating his words with a kiss before lying back down on the bed.

He’s barely settled back before Scott’s mouth closes over his cock, swallowing him down. Derek’s hips jerk, hand flying to Scott’s hair, and he moans when a slick finger circles his rim. _“Scott,”_ he breathes, hand sliding over Scott’s bobbing head, “Scott, come on-”

Scott slides in, stretching him carefully until Derek’s hips start to rock back against the friction. He shivers at the sensation, Scott’s fingers rubbing into him and stretching him open while his tongue slides over Derek’s cock. His fingers curl against something that shoots through Derek like a hot brand, body snapping taught as he bites through his fist. “Scott,” he gasps, “Scott, I-” and dissolves into incoherency as he spills into Scott’s mouth.

Scott swallows, coughing as he pulls back. “Sorry,” Derek whispers, brushing away stray droplets with his thumb.

Scott grabs his hand and licks it clean. “Sorry for what?” he asks with a wicked grin, and leans in for a kiss. Derek licks into his mouth greedily, chasing the taste of himself on Scott’s tongue while Scott grinds against his hip. He slicks up his hand and reaches down, smirking against Scott’s mouth when his hips jerk into his touch.

Derek slides over his cock lazily, tracing his fingers over the tip and squeezing tight around him. Scott drops his head forward, thrusting into his grip. “Derek,” he pants, “Derek, please, I need-” He shudders as Derek drags a hand down his back, raking nails across his skin. _“Derek.”_

Derek lifts his legs and settles them around Scott’s hips. “Come on.”

“Are you s-”

“Scott, I swear, if you ask me that one more time.” Scott kisses him apologetically, then leans back to line himself up. Derek’s jaw goes slack as he pushes in, breath leaving him in a wordless gasp. “Derek?” Scott asks, voice tight. “Are you okay?”

Derek nods. “Good,” he slurs, rocking his hips slowly into the sweet burn. “So good – Scott, you need to move.” He sighs as Scott starts to thrust into him, shallow at first, then deeper and deeper until Derek arches against him. “Just like that,” he murmurs, “just like-” He gasps as Scott brushes that spot inside him, clawing at his back. _“Scott_.”

Scott reaches between them, stroking Derek to match his thrusts. “C’mon, Derek.” He drops searing kisses onto Derek’s skin, pounding into him mercilessly and setting his body aflame. “C’mon, I want to see you, Derek, I want-” His hand twists around Derek, hips thrusting deep inside him, and Derek snaps. He yanks Scott’s head down, crushing their mouths together as he comes. The metallic tang of blood fills his mouth and trickles over his fingers as he digs his hands into Scott’s back, pulling him in tight.

Scott’s thrusts turn frantic. “Derek,” he pants, head dropping against Derek’s neck. “Derek-” He bites into Derek’s skin to muffle his cry, hips snapping jerkily. Derek groans and presses closer, savoring the bruise blooming under Scott’s teeth and the pulse of Scott spilling into him. He pulls Scott up to lick the blood from his lip, stroking over the raw scrapes on his back until Scott finds his breath again.

He collapses on his side next to Derek, tugging him closer as he giggles into the crook of his neck. The vibrations tickle up Derek’s throat until he finds himself laughing, too, collapsed in a tangle of sweaty limbs and helpless laughter. “You okay?” he finally manages.

“I-” Scott breaks into a fresh bout of giggles and fights to catch his breath. “I’m just so happy.”

Derek reaches over to stroke his husband’s face. “Well, at least you’re not…” He trails off as his thumb brushes the corner of Scott’s eye and comes away wet. “…never mind.”

Scott laughs harder, even as he grabs the sheet and carefully wipes Derek clean. “I’m sorry! I can’t stop laughing; I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Derek kicks the sheet away and pulls Scott closer, kissing tears away from the corners of his eyes. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Yeah, I-” Scott stills mid-giggle. He leans back to look Derek in the eye. “You. What?”

Derek smiles. “I love you.”

Scott’s eyes crinkle as he beams. “I love you, too.” Derek settles against him, kissing him through a smile as bright and warm as sunshine –

– sunshine. Right. Derek drags himself upright reluctantly. “You need to get going. The sun’ll come up soon.”

“Right. The sun.” Scott sits up with a groan, holding his arms up for the tunic Derek slides over his head. “Uh. Derek, I think this one’s yours.”

Derek squints. “Oh.” He shrugs and kisses him. “I like the way it looks on you.”

“Yeah?” Scott asks, grinning against his lips. They kiss for minutes, hours, until Scott pulls away. “I really need to get going.”

“Yeah,” Derek murmurs. He nips at his jaw. “If you get caught sneaking back, I’m divorcing you.”

Scott laughs. “Divorce, huh? So I’m your husband now?”

Derek kisses him slowly. “Not if you get caught.”

“Well, then, you better let me go so I don’t get caught,” Scott says. Derek nods and presses a kiss to the side of his neck. “Derek.” Scott climbs off the bed with a sigh, slipping his own tunic over Derek’s head and tugging it into place. “Derek, I’m gonna need you to let go of me now.”

Derek slides his hands off Scott’s hips slowly. “Tomorrow night,” he says. “Come back tomorrow night.”

“I’ll be here as soon as the sun goes down,” Scott promises. He kisses him softly, chastely, then leaves the room as quietly as he’d crept in.

Derek drops back onto the bed with a sigh. His throat tickles, and a giggle bursts from his chest. Then another, and another until he curls on his side, laughing uncontrollably. He throws his arm across his face, and it comes away wet.

Spartans don’t cry themselves to sleep. Spartans don’t cry for any reason at all. But somehow, Derek finds tears of mirth spilling from his eyes, laughing his way into unconsciousness over Scott.

He could do worse.

 

He blinks his eyes open to sunlight streaming through the windows and Danny staring down at him. “ _Derek_ ,” he says slowly.

Derek stretches lazily, relishing the twinge of sore muscles. “Good morning.”

“The circle was broken when I got here.”

“Yes, it was.”

“You’re somehow in your bed.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Those _definitely_ aren’t the clothes I left you in last night.”

Derek blinks down at his tunic – or, rather, Scott’s. “Whoops.”

Danny scoops the mountain ash into a pouch and sits down next to him, looking confused, curious, and vaguely judgmental all at once. “Just what exactly happened last night?”

He grins. “I got married.”


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Full cast list.](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com/post/97926720096/whos-who-in-i-will-wait-aka-my-scerek)

Ithaca is…it’s nothing like Derek expected. He expected…he doesn’t really know what he expected. Cities grown right into the forests, maybe, tall trees sprouting straight through houses and running right up to the shore. In hindsight, he should have realized that it wouldn’t make sense for cities to be overrun with trees, much less the houses themselves, but Scott doesn’t laugh at him about it.

He does, however, laugh when he spends the better part of the day searching for Derek in the city, only to find him staring down a gull at the harbor. They’re much bigger than Derek had expected, and their caws make him laugh.

Despite not actually living in a forest, everything is so _green_. The fields, the vegetation, and the trees in the mountains – much lower than Sparta’s peaks, and with much gentler weather – they’re all colored so brightly. It’s surreal to stand at the top and see green land and blue sea in all directions. The islands are brilliantly green, but the water that spreads out all around them takes Derek’s breath away.

At first, Scott stays plastered to his side, but after the incident with the gull – Scott still laughs about it, and Derek doesn’t get why it’s so funny, gulls are just so _fascinating_ – he lets Derek wander more freely on his own. Derek spends nights camped at the top of Ithaca’s highest mountain, marveling at his sleeping kingdom and the stars leading into the sea. He wanders the beaches during the warmest parts of the day, digging his toes into the sand – it surprises him how cold it gets, further down – and marveling at the treasures that the tide brings in. Scott teaches him how to listen to the ocean in seashells, and he starts a collection, cupping every new one to his ear and comparing echoes through the different curves.

The gulls get used to him and start trailing after him along the harbor. For some reason, this only makes Scott laugh harder.

Melissa, Scott’s mother, teaches him everything about Ithaca from navigating the islands to ruling the kingdom, enlisting Braeden as his unofficial tutor. Every time Scott tries to help, they shove him out of the room and shut the door in his face. “If you learn from him, you’ll only ever see things his way,” Melissa tells Derek. “Ruling, relationships, love; they all need balance. Balance comes from seeing things differently and meeting in the middle.”

He hopes that Danny and Ethan are learning to meet in the middle, back in Sparta.

Derek surprises Braeden by actually being a decent swimmer – any decent warrior should know how to swim, in case war takes to the seas – but she teaches him to sail a boat and fish off the islands’ capes. He learns how to gut a fish from Isaac, farm Ithaca’s tougher terrain with Boyd, and run his own household. He’s never been the fastest of learners, and Braeden snorts every time he messes something up, but she patiently fixes his mistakes every time until he’s mastered the skill.

Melissa tries to teach him how to weave at the loom, and it ends in more tangles than all of Braeden’s knot-tying lessons combined. Not even Erica can manage to undo them all. It’s the first time Braeden ends up laughing with him instead of at him.

One day, Scott leads him into their house, practically bouncing with excitement as he covers Derek’s eyes and steers him towards their bedroom. “What’s going on?” Derek asks, walking forward blindly.

“Almost there,” Scott says as he guides Derek through the doorway. “Okay, stop here. Ready?”

“For what?” Derek asks. Scott kisses his cheek instead of answering, and Derek sighs. “Okay, I’m ready.” Scott pulls his hands away, and Derek finds himself looking at their bed.

Well, their _new_ bed. The frame has been completely refashioned, and one of the legs at its head – the one on Derek’s side, closest to the window – is carved from an olive tree. An actual, living olive tree, with roots running straight into the floor. Derek spins around, meeting Scott’s nervous smile. “Why did you…?”

“Remember when you first got here, and you thought the houses were all going to be in the forests and built around trees?” Scott says. “And then you were so disappointed when that didn’t turn out to be true. So I thought, well, I can’t rebuild our entire house around a tree, but I could build our bed around one. Just for us.” He bites his lip. “It’s stupid, isn’t it. I can-”

Derek cuts him off with a kiss. “ _I_ was the one being stupid, thinking trees could live inside houses. But you made it happen for me anyway.” He kisses him again. “I love it.”

Scott relaxes. “Really?”

“You made this for me, _because_ of me. Of course I love it.” He runs his hand over the tree’s trunk, admiring the branches winding into the headboard. “How long did it take you to get this to work?”

“ _So_ long,” Scott sighs, then straightens. “I mean, not long at all, because I am a master craftsman and I can carve anything out of wood, even a living tree.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at Scott’s brazen smile. “Oh, really.”

“Absolutely.”

“So all those stories Melissa told me about you nailing your own thumb to a plank are completely false.”

Scott’s mouth drops open. “I was a _kid!_ ” he whines. “I’ve gotten a lot better!”

Derek peers up into the tree’s branches, pulling down an olive. “So making, say, a wooden horse would be no problem for you.”

“Easy,” he scoffs. “How big do you want it?”

“Big enough to ride, of course,” Derek says.

Scott blinks. “Derek,” he says carefully, “Why do you want to ride a wooden horse? We have plenty of actual horses.”

“Oh, no, not for me.” He pops the olive into his mouth. It’s delicious. “For a child. Maybe with the hooves set on a curve, so it can rock back and forth when they sit on it.”

“For a…” Scott’s breath stills. He swallows. “Derek, are you saying…?”

Derek feels a smile split across his face. “We’re having a baby.”

“We’re.” Scott rushes forward, cupping Derek’s face reverently. “We’re having a _baby?_ ”

“We’re having a baby,” he nods, kissing happy tears from the corners of his husband’s eyes. “I love you so much.”

Scott presses their foreheads together. “I love you more than words could ever say.”

 

Scott finds him sitting on the beach, feet buried in the warm sand as the sun slowly dips into the sea. “I thought I’d get sick of the sunsets here,” Derek says, watching the sky’s colors sparkle across the water. “I thought it would be the one thing that would never be able to live up to everything you told me about them.”

“What do you think now?” Scott asks. He sits down next to him, wiggling his toes in the sand and tucking an arm around Derek’s waist. “Is it everything you thought it’d be?”

He turns to Scott. The waning light casts across his face and bathes him in a golden glow. Derek smiles and leans in for a kiss. “It’s even better.”

 

* * *

 

“These are newborn pups,” Scott says, kneeling next to the litter and picking one up carefully. “And you’re going to take care of them, and when you’re big and strong, Papa’s going to teach you how to hunt, okay?”

Liam gurgles and waves his hands towards the pup. Scott sets him on the floor, placing the pup carefully in his lap. “Gently,” he says, guiding his son’s hand over the pup’s head and down its back. The pup yawns, nuzzling closer in his lap, and Liam shrieks in glee. “I knew it; you love dogs, just like your Daddy.” Scott bends closer, looking Liam in the eye. “Liam, can you say Da-ddy?” Liam giggles. “How about Pa-pa?”

“He’s not going to be able to talk for a while, you know.” He turns to see Derek leaning in the doorway, watching them fondly. “Melissa said _you_ didn’t start talking for another year.”

Scott smiles. “Well, he’s got strong Spartan blood in him, too. You never know.” Derek’s eyes drop, and his smile fades a little. “What’s wrong?”

“News from Sparta,” Derek says. “Danny’s been taken to Troy.”

Scott quickly returns the pup to the litter and stands, cradling Liam in his arms. “What?”

“He’s been taken,” Derek says. “By Matt, one of Troy’s princes. Ethan’s invoked the oath that all of Danny’s suitors swore, the oath that _you_ came up with.” He stares at Scott, face hardening into the Spartan prince that Scott had met all that time ago. “You will go to war. You will bring my cousin back home.”

It isn’t a question so much as it is an order. Scott nods, rubbing Liam’s back absently. “I will,” he promises. “Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.”

Derek nods sharply. “Aiden’s on his way. He’ll be here in a few days.” He hesitates, as if he wants to say more, but settles for kissing the top of Liam’s head and walking away.

Scott looks down at Liam, bouncing him lightly. “You be good for Daddy while I’m away, okay?” he says. “Papa will be back soon.”

“No, you won’t,” Boyd says as he brings the plow in. “If you leave for this war, you won’t be returning for a very long time.”

Scott frowns. “How do you know? You can see the future?”

Boyd leans on his notched staff. “I measured it myself.”

His breath hitches. “You’re a Fate.”

“One of them,” Boyd says with a nod. “Erica loves your story, and Isaac’s always felt a certain affinity for Derek.”

Scott remembers the nimble flash of Isaac’s knife as he taught Derek to gut a fish. It makes sense for the thread-cutter to gravitate towards a prince of Sparta. “And you?” he asks.

Boyd tucks his staff under his arm and wiggles his hand in Liam’s face. Liam twists in Scott’s arms, grasping Boyd’s fingers and gnawing contentedly. “I just enjoy watching life grow.”

Scott presses his lips together. “How long?” he asks. “If I go, how long until I return?”

“You’ll never see your son like this again,” Boyd says. He bops Liam’s nose gently, smiling when he shrieks with laughter. “He’ll meet you after years of searching for you himself.”

“And Derek?”

“He’ll wait,” Boyd says. “As he always has.”

Scott lets out a breath. “But I have to go,” he says. “I can’t – you said you measured it yourself. You already know my fate.”

“But you don’t.” Boyd tilts his head. “I’ve watched you your whole life, Scott, and you’ve never been one to accept your fate.” He lifts Liam from Scott’s arms, and Liam giggles as Boyd raises him high in the air. “You should talk to your husband.”

“He wants me to go. He’s from Sparta; for them, battle is the highest honor there is.”

“He’s from Ithaca, too.” Boyd tucks Liam securely in his arm. “I’ll get your son some food. Talk to Derek.”

He finds Derek in their room, staring at the olive tree growing from their bed. “You know, when we were young, Danny and I used to play in the fields all the time,” Derek says when Scott walks in. He stares up into the branches with unfocused eyes. “Just the two of us. We were princes, we were the top of our class, we could take care of ourselves. He was the son of Zeus. We thought we were invincible.

“But one day, two men appeared and stole Danny away. I tried to chase after them, I ran as fast as I could, but I was a child and they were fully grown men. It took my cousins months to track them down and bring Danny back.” Derek sits back from the tree, twisting his hands together. “Danny wasn’t even old enough to be married, not even for Athenians like them, but that didn’t matter to them. All that mattered was that they wanted to marry children of Zeus, and Danny was one.”

Scott sits down next to him, carefully laying a hand over Derek’s on the bed. “I’m sorry that happened to him.”

“He swore he’d never be kidnapped like that again,” Derek says. “He’d never be carried off like some helpless object. But after that, he gave up trying to be his own person. He was the son of Zeus, the greatest beauty in the world. He hated it, he did everything he could to prove himself in other ways, but none of it mattered anymore.” Derek looks up at Scott. “You know, when he got married, he never even hoped that Ethan would love him? He just hoped Ethan would stop seeing him as a prize one day. That’s all he ever expected.”

“I…that’s terrible.” Danny’s aloof, almost cutting edge towards him in Sparta makes more sense, now. Scott regrets not trying to get to know him more. “That isn’t fair.”

“That’s life,” Derek says. “And that’s how I know that Danny wasn’t taken by Matt. He never would’ve let himself be taken, not again. He _left_.”

“He’d leave Sparta?” Scott asks. He frowns in confusion. “His home? His family? How could he do that?”

“If Matt gave him the one thing he never thought he could have,” Derek says. “He looked at Danny and saw him for him.” He turns his hand to clasp Scott’s. “I don’t want you to go after him. They could have a chance to be happy together. Just like we are.”

Scott’s heart lurches. “Derek, I swore an oath. If Ethan wants me to help get Danny back, I have to. I don’t have a choice.”

“And I’m telling you that I want you to find a way out of that choice,” Derek says. “I know you can, Scott. When you put your mind to it, you’re unstoppable.”

Scott leans away, bewildered. “You want me to run away from war like a coward?”

“I want our son to grow up knowing his father!” Derek shouts. He takes a breath. “Erica told me the prophecy, Scott. I don’t want that for our family. I’m asking you to do this for your son.” He squeezes Scott’s hands. “I’m asking you to do this for _me_.”

Scott tilts his forehead against Derek’s with a sigh. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll find a way. I won’t go.”

 

Deep down, Derek knows it’s useless. He knows fate can’t be avoided. But Scott’s done the impossible for him before, and he can’t help but dare. And, watching his husband cuddle their son close and press kisses to all ten tiny fingers, he can’t help but hope.

When Aiden arrives, he finds Scott plowing the fields outside their home. The poor donkey on one side struggles to keep up with the ox on the other, and Scott plants grains of salt instead of seeds, humming nonsensically to himself about rocks that roll. Aiden raises an eyebrow at Derek. “The hell happened to him?”

Derek looks down, shaking his head. “It started so slowly,” he says. “Not long after Liam was born. He’s lost his mind.”

“Really,” Aiden says flatly. Scott swerves the plow past them, singing loudly about sticks of lips and something called a Nebraska. Aiden turns back to Derek with a sigh, eyes dropping to Liam. “So this is the little prince, huh?” He holds out his hands. “May I?”

Derek hands him over carefully. Aiden holds him with the ease of an experienced parent. “They grow up so fast,” he murmurs, pulling faces to make Liam laugh. “It’s like you look away for a moment, and when you see them again they’re fully grown.”

“How old’s your daughter, now?” Derek asks. “Julia, right?”

Aiden nods. “Just about old enough to be married. I won’t be there to give her away.” He looks up at Derek. “But those are the sacrifices we have to make when it comes to war.”

Derek stiffens as soldiers grab his arms. “What are you-” Aiden runs into the field, sitting in front of the oncoming plow with Liam held tight in his arms. _“Aiden!”_

Scott looks up at Derek’s scream, and his eyes widen when he sees Aiden in front of him. He lets go of the plow and throws his weight against the donkey, driving them off the path and across the field. “What the hell are you doing?” he yells at Aiden, dropping to his knees to grab Liam.

“He’s fine, he didn’t even know he was in any danger,” Aiden says, letting go easily. Liam squeals happily in his father’s arms and jams his tunic into his mouth.

“Why did you do that?” Scott demands. “You put my son in harm’s way, and you-” He turns towards the soldiers. “Let go of my husband! That’s an order!”

Aiden climbs to his feet easily, following Scott off the field. “Yeah, I’d have to be pretty crazy to do something that makes so little sense, huh?”

Derek watches Scott freeze, face perfectly still, and his eyes meet Derek’s before he slumps in defeat. “I understand that you don’t want to leave your family, especially when your son is so young, but you swore an oath, Scott,” Aiden says. “My brother’s honor is at stake. The honor of your husband’s _home_ is at stake,” he adds, pointing at Derek. “Some things are more important than even our children.”

Scott stares silently at Derek, failure etched across his face. He doesn’t answer.

 

Scott’s a vision in his armor, with his helmet cutting across his face and his shield gleaming on his arm. Derek should be pleased, should be _proud_ to see his husband off to war and glory, but all he feels is a dark pit settling in his gut. What will he look like when he sees him again? _Will_ he – no. No. He can’t think that way. He’ll come back. Of course he’ll come back.

Liam squeals excitedly at the shield, reaching for his reflection in the shining bronze. “You be good for Daddy while I’m away, okay?” Scott says, kissing the top of his head. “Papa will be back s…Papa will be back.” He hands Liam over, and the smile he flashes Derek lacks its usual warmth. “You gonna tell me to come back with my shield or on it?”

Liam clutches at Derek’s tunic, head darting back and forth between them in confusion. “Sparta isn’t my home,” Derek says, looking up to meet his husband’s eyes. “ _This_ is my home. I don’t care how you come back, Scott, just come back. For our son. For-” His throat closes. “For me. Just come back to me.”

Scott steps forward, cradling his face gently. “I will,” he promises. “No matter what it takes, I’ll come back to you.” He kisses him softly, then ducks to stroke Liam’s head. “I’ll be back, Liam,” he says. Liam grabs his finger and babbles happily at him. “Papa loves you.”

Liam’s eyes widen as Scott tugs his finger out of his grip and turns away. His head jerks back into Derek’s chest, squawking in confusion as they watch Scott leave. He thrashes in Derek’s grip, struggling towards Scott, and wails at the top of his lungs.

Derek holds Liam tight, eyes fixed on Scott as he falters at the sound of Liam’s cries. “Don’t look back,” he whispers. “Please don’t look back.” Scott stumbles, as if hearing his words, and turns one last time to flash him a smile as gentle as the end of a sunset before disappearing from sight.

Derek breaks. He crashes to his knees, curling over their son as hot tears spill from his eyes. He’s never cried before, Spartans don’t cry, but – but –

But he’s no Spartan. He’s an Ithacan, as much as Scott, and he lets the ragged sobs tear from his throat. Braeden runs a soothing hand over his back, and Boyd carefully takes Liam into his arms. “He’ll come back,” Derek says, hiccupping past tears that feel foreign in his mouth. He takes a deep breath and straightens. “I know he’ll come back.”

Liam quiets in Boyd’s arms, transfixed by his notched staff. Derek stands, ignoring Braeden’s outstretched arm, and turns back to the house. Melissa watches him from the doorway. “We have work to do.”


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Full cast list.](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com/post/97926720096/whos-who-in-i-will-wait-aka-my-scerek)

Along the road from Pylos, Aiden decides to take some of the younger soldiers hunting. “Be careful,” Deaton warns. “There are groves sacred to Artemis here. Stay away from them.”

Aiden waves absently over his shoulder as he leads the men away. “He’s going to get into a lot of trouble if he isn’t careful,” Deaton tells Scott, frowning after them. “Confidence is important in a commander, but too much makes one blind to their own faults.”

“Aiden’s one of the greatest warriors of his time,” Scott says. “He’s a good leader.”

“One of the greats,” Deaton agrees. “But not nearly one of the greatest.” He looks at Scott, lifting an enigmatic eyebrow. “You know, it’s okay to admit that you don’t get along.”

“We get along fine,” Scott says. “He’s in charge, Ethan trusts his judgment, and Ethan’s the one who’s been wronged, here, so I respect them both.”

“Aiden’s a lot to handle, though,” Deaton says.

“Well, that’s why you’re here.”

Deaton smiles. “I’ll stay here. You go ahead and wander like you clearly want to. Just stay away from the groves. Artemis doesn’t like her territory being invaded.”

“I will.”

Scott stays far away from the trees and winds his way through the meadow instead. A cool breeze stirs through the grass, blowing yellow daffodils against his ankles. He follows a trail of poppies over a gentle slope and blinks in surprise when he finds a massive flock of sheep on the other side. A lamb butts against his leg, running in circles around him and bleating excitedly, and leads him to the lone shepherd shearing the sheep in the shade of the hill. “Hello, sir,” Scott says. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

The shepherd lets his sheep go and looks up with a grin. “Fancy meeting you here. And you even brought me my lamb!”

Scott blinks at Isaac, the thread-cutter of the Fates and occasional cook of his home. “What…” he says slowly, then shakes his head. “Have you been following me?”

“Scott, my work does not revolve around you,” Isaac says. “And Derek’s more than capable of cooking a few meals without me there. He needs to keep himself busy right now.” He cuddles the lamb close and picks up his shears. “No, I’m just here for my sheep.”

Scott looks at the flock, so expansive that he can’t even see the grass under the sea of white. “There’s a lot of them.”

“Yes, there are,” Isaac says. “And they’re all going to be sheared.” Scott’s eyes widen, and Isaac rolls his own. “Calm down. There’s plenty more that wandered on home instead. Not ready for my shears, yet.”

“Oh,” Scott says, relaxing slightly. He glances at the meadow. “But there’s so many.”

“A thousand ships is a lot of soldiers,” Isaac says. He trims away the lamb’s wool and lets it squirm out of his hands. The lamb runs back to Scott and headbutts his leg. “You’re going to need Allison. Greatest warrior of your lifetime, and all. Not gonna win without her.”

“Lydia’s bound by her oath to go; Allison will go with her.”

“No.” Isaac plucks a poppy from the grass and rips away its petals one by one. “You’re not the only one we visit, you know. Her family doesn’t want her to go to war, so they’ve hidden her away. Skyros is where you’ll find her.”

“Which one of you visited her?” Scott asks.

Isaac tosses the last petal into the air. Scott watches it flutter down onto the lamb, the drop of red even starker against its white head. “Me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, no one really likes it when I come around,” Isaac says, lounging back on his elbows. “She’ll go with you when you find her. You mortals are just so daring about your fate, y’know?”

A triumphant shout echoes from the trees, presumably from the soldiers’ successful hunt. “We are,” Scott says.

A massive ram ambles over the crest of the hill, staring Isaac down as it approaches. “My, what big horns you have,” Isaac says, raising his eyebrows. He turns to Scott. “They’re impressive, aren’t they? Really tells you who’s in charge, here.”

The lamb glares at the ram. It butts Scott’s leg again, bleating angrily. “That could be a problem,” Isaac says mildly, looking far too amused by its antics. “Have fun dealing with that.”

Scott sighs. “Skyros, you said?”

Isaac nods. “You’ll have to put in some work to find her, of course. But you’re clever; it should be simple enough.”

“Nothing about this entire war is simple.”

“You don’t know how right you are,” Isaac says. “Anyway, it’s time for you to get going. I’ve got sheep to shear.”

“Including that one?” Scott asks, nodding at the ram.

“That’s for me to know and you to not,” Isaac says. He waves the lamb away. “Well, off you go.”

Scott turns to leave, then stops. “Am I going to see you again?” he asks. “Before all of this is over.”

Isaac tilts his head. “That’s not for me to know, Scott. I don’t decide what happens.” Another sheep settles down in front of him, and he picks up his shears. “I’m just here to trim the wool.”

The deer is already skinned and roasting over a fire when Scott returns. The soldiers congratulate each other and share chunks of meat, but Deaton sits off the side, staring at the deer’s massive antlers with creased brows. “Aiden,” Scott says slowly, “where did you find this deer?”

“Relax,” Aiden says. “If it was one of Artemis’, I never would have been able to catch it. There’s no way I’m a better hunter than the Huntress herself.” He pats the antlers with a smirk. “Unless I actually am.”

Scott tries not to think of the horned ram from the meadow. He ignores the meat Aiden offers to him. “We need to get Allison.”

“Yeah,” Aiden says, arching a brow in confusion. “She’s probably the greatest warrior of our time, we’re gonna need her and her Myrmidons. That’s why we’re going to Phthia, where she and Lydia are.”

“No, Allison’s in Skyros,” Scott says. “Her family hid her there.”

Aiden glances at Deaton, then shrugs. “All right, then. We’ll go to Skyros first.” He claps Scott’s shoulder. “See, Scott, this is why we need you around. You always manage to come up with a solution.”

Scott looks down at the felled deer. “Not always.”

 

The young girls admire the jewelry that Scott places in his cart at Skyros, but one’s gaze lingers too long over the finely sharpened daggers. Her covered head ducks, trying to peer through Scott’s own hood without being seen herself.

A war horn blows, and the girls fall back with a cry. One, however, snatches up the daggers immediately, flinging her veil back and crouching into a fighting stance against the intruders that never come. Scott straightens, lifting his own hood, and Allison sighs. “I knew you weren’t really a merchant,” she says.

“I was pretty sure you weren’t really an innocent young maiden,” Scott says. “Wasn’t positive, though.”

“Don’t act humble; you knew,” Allison huffs. “You’re Scott of Ithaca; you _always_ know.” He didn’t, and he doesn’t, but he stays silent. She’s not really angry at him, after all. “Who told you I was here?”

“A shepherd on the road.”

Allison waves the other girls back into the city. “You met him too, huh?” she says. “He read my fortune in exchange for some fruit. Told me I would either have a long uneventful life with a peaceful end, or a short one that would be remembered for years to come. And he said I’d have to make my choice when Scott of Ithaca came to find me.”

“Well, here I am,” Scott says. He glances behind him. “You know, I’m the only one here. If you wanted, you could turn around and disappear again, and no one would know. You don’t have to come with us.”

Allison responds by picking up the daggers and tucking them into her belt. “These are mine, now.”

“Of course,” Scott says. He pauses. “Are you sure? Once we leave, there’s no turning back.”

“I’m Allison of the Myrmidons. I’m the daughter of a god and was bathed by Styx herself.” She drops her veil, stepping over it and out of Skyros. “I’m not going to run and hide from war.”

Scott follows her down the road. “But…if you go, you’ll die,” he says. “You’re okay with that? You accept that as your fate?”

Allison lifts her chin. “There’s no such thing as fate, Scott.”

For a moment, Scott catches a glimpse of three figures on a faraway hill. Sun-bright hair blows over skin dark as night and white as bone. Light flashes from the thin one’s shears, blinding Scott and forcing him to blink. When he looks back, the hill is empty, and he hears the faint bleating of sheep. He shakes his head and hurries to catch up with Allison.

Allison may have bathed in Styx’s sacred waters, but Scott was nurtured by the Fates themselves. It’s hard to not believe in them.

 

* * *

 

“Well,” Stiles says. “We’re off to a great start.”

Their ships are all assembled, over a thousand strong ready to embark from Aulis’ harbors…in clear blue skies and completely dead wind. Stiles licks his finger and holds it up, as if the drooping sails weren’t obvious enough. “Yup,” he says. “This is a great start.”

Scott sighs. “Not helping, Stiles.” He turns to Deaton. “Do you know what’s causing this?”

“Bad weather,” Stiles supplies. “Well, actually, it’s kind of gorgeous weather, when you think about it, really ideal for everything except sailing. Like, everyone else who isn’t us is super thrilled about this weather, right now. We are literally the only people inconvenienced by this. It’s like one of us pissed off a god or something.”

“Stiles,” Scott begins, then freezes. “No,” he says, looking at Deaton, “no, it can’t be.”

“I told him to stay away from the groves,” Deaton says.

Scott groans.

“I met a shepherd on the road,” Deaton says. “He has the gift of foresight.”

“Did everyone except me meet the freaking prophetic shepherd?” Stiles mutters to Scott.

“Stiles, you sailed here.”

“Oh, good point.”

“He’ll tell us how to appease Artemis,” Deaton says. “Ethan’s speaking with him now.”

“Oh, someone pissed off Artemis?” Stiles asks. “That’s not too bad. She’s pretty chill. It’s kind of hard to piss her off, actually.”

“Aiden hunted down one of her sacred deer,” Deaton says.

“Oh,” Stiles says. “Well, shit.”

Ethan walks up to them, pulling the prophetic shepherd along by the arm. For some reason, Isaac now has a floppy hat jammed over his curls and a long, narrow shawl draped over his shoulders. “This is ridiculous,” Ethan says.

“You probably shouldn’t say that about Artemis,” Deaton says.

“He says we have to-” Ethan spits. He closes his eyes briefly, visibly calming himself. “He says the only way to appease Artemis is for Aiden to sacrifice his daughter.”

“Whoa,” Stiles says, holding up his hands. “Maybe it’s just me, but that sounds kinda drastic.” He gestures at Isaac. “Are we sure this guy’s really a prophet? I mean, what kind of prophet wears a shawl.”

“He’s a prophet,” Ethan says. “He knows things no one else would. I’m sure.”

Stiles squints. “What’d he guess about you?”

“I don’t have to tell you that.”

“Well, isn’t that convenient.” Stiles turns to Isaac. “All right. If you’re so psychic, then what did I have for lunch yesterday?”

Isaac blinks. “Seriously? Out of all the questions you could possibly ask me, _that’s_ what you’re going with?” He sighs. “It was lamb, by the way.”

“And what about tomorrow?”

“More lamb.”

“You’re just saying that because everyone eats lamb,” Stiles says.

“I don’t eat lamb,” Scott offers.

“Of course you don’t.”

“Exactly one hundred and twenty-eight days from now, you’re going to have snake for lunch,” Isaac tells Stiles.

Stiles makes a face. “That’s disgusting. I don’t believe you.”

Isaac shrugs. “One hundred and twenty-eight days.” He smirks. “Also, you have five moles on your butt. If you connect them all, it takes the shape of a-”

“Okay!” Stiles yells. “Okay, so he’s psychic.”

“Thanks, Stiles,” Ethan says dryly. “We definitely didn’t already know that.” He turns to Deaton. “I can’t ask my brother to sacrifice his daughter just for my sake.”

“Well, technically, _he’s_ our commander, not you, so it’s kind of for his own sake, semantics-wise,” Stiles says.

“Again with the helping.”

“He has a point, Ethan,” Deaton says, glancing at Stiles. “And Aiden was the one who killed Artemis’ deer, not you. It’s his duty as supreme commander and personal offender to set things right with the goddess.”

Ethan shakes his head. “I still can’t…I can’t ask him to do that.”

“Well, it needs to get done,” Stiles says. “The gods are cruel and unforgiving and I mean that in the best way, Artemis, please do not smite me.” He sighs in relief when an arrow doesn’t shoot him down, and pats Ethan’s shoulder. “I’ll tell Aiden.”

Ethan looks up. “Really?”

“Hell no, are you kidding me? He’ll probably take my head off. You tell him yourself.”

 

Aiden takes the news well enough, if “well enough” qualifies as punching Isaac so hard that he flies off the dock and into the harbor. Scott doesn’t bother to listen for the splash that won’t come, unsurprised when one of the soldiers peers over the edge and shouts that the shepherd’s disappeared.

Still, he organizes a group of his soldiers to bring his daughter from Mycenae. “Tell her that she’s going to marry Allison before we leave for Troy,” he says. The soldiers nod and march off.

Scott and Stiles glance at each other. “Uh,” Scott says. “Does Allison know about that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Aiden says. “She’s not actually going to marry Allison.”

“Yeah, but, uh,” Stiles says. He shares another glance at Scott. “You think you should maybe let Allison know? Just for the sake of keeping everyone in the know?”

Aiden seizes the front of Stiles’ tunic. “I’m about to _kill my daughter_ ,” he roars. “You think I give a crap about what Allison thinks over something that doesn’t even matter?”

Stiles wiggles in Aiden’s grip, toes just barely brushing the dock. “Okay, gotcha,” he says. “You’re the guy in charge, what you says goes.”

“That’s right,” Aiden says. He lets go, and Scott runs to brace Stiles before he crashes to the ground. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to sharpen my sword.”

“Wow,” Stiles says as Aiden stalks away. “We haven’t even left town yet and already people are dying.”

Ethan glares at him. “You could be a little more sympathetic.”

“Hey, I am _plenty_ sympathetic for his daughter, okay,” Stiles says. “But he’s just totally going along with what some crazy psychic says. I mean, Scott, would _you_ kill Liam if that weirdo shepherd told you to?”

Scott’s hands ball into fists at the mention of his son. “Never,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “I’d go home and never come back. I’d sacrifice myself instead if it came to it.” He takes a deep breath. “But I’m not the commander of our army. I’m leading a few hundred soldiers; Aiden’s leading a hundred _thousand_. And they’re all prepared to die for our cause.”

“But…” Stiles says. His face falls. “She’s just a kid. She didn’t sign up for this.”

He remembers what Aiden had told him as he’d pulled Scott away from his own family. “Some things are more important than even our children.”

Stiles squeezes his shoulder. “I understand, Scott.” He turns to Ethan. “But for the record, I am never sacrificing any of my kids for you.”

“You don’t have any kids,” Ethan says.

“Yeah, and even if I did, I wouldn’t,” Stiles says. “I understand, but I don’t like it, and I don’t get why you do.”

“I don’t,” Ethan says. He looks down, jaw clenched. “I don’t like _any_ of this.”

They watch him leave the dock, shoulders slumped dejectedly. “Like I said,” Stiles says, turning to Scott with a sigh. “We’re off to a _great_ start.”

 

Unsurprisingly, it all goes to hell. Julia arrives and makes a beeline straight for Allison, who cycles from confusion to indignation to white-hot rage in about as long as it takes for Scott and Deaton to catch up to them. Lydia stands back, arms crossed and eyebrow arched judgmentally towards him. “Scott, what the hell is going on?” Allison demands. “Why didn’t anyone think to ask me about this?”

“Well, because it’s not exactly happening,” Deaton says.

 _“What?”_ all three girls demand in unison.

Deaton turns to Julia. “Julia, your father brought you here because the goddess Artemis demands that you be sacrificed.”

They stare at him in stunned silence. “Wow,” Lydia finally mutters. “You really didn’t mince words with that.”

 _“What,”_ Allison says.

“Julia’s father angered Artemis,” Deaton says calmly. “The goddess now demands the life of his child in reparation.”

 _“What.”_ Allison turns to Scott. “Scott, how can you accept this?”

“I can’t defy a god,” Scott says. “Aiden’s already agreed to it.”

“I don’t give a _crap_ what Aiden says, this is a child’s life!” Allison exclaims. “And he’d try to drag me into this, he thinks he can tell _me_ what to do? He thinks I’ll obey his every command? Over _this?_ ”

“Allison-” Scott begins, but Allison shoves Julia behind her and draws her sword. “If you want your child sacrifice, you’ll have to go through me,” she says, voice steely. “I don’t care how many soldiers you send after me; I’ll strike them all down before they touch a single hair on Julia’s head.”

“Even if it’s the entire army?” Deaton asks. “Even your own soldiers?”

Allison narrows her eyes. “You’re awfully calm about killing an innocent child.”

“I know that I’m at the mercy of the gods, same as we all are,” Deaton says. “If this is what Artemis demands, then it is what Artemis demands.”

“That’s easy for you to say when your life isn’t on the line!” Allison spits. “You-” She stops as Julia rests a timid hand on her shoulder, and turns to look at the girl.

“Scott,” Julia asks, “What’ll happen to my father if he disobeys Artemis?”

He hesitates. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “But the gods don’t take kindly to being ignored.”

“And if he doesn’t make things right with Artemis, then none of you can sail for Troy.”

“Yeah,” Scott says, slumping. “That seems to be the tradeoff.”

“Okay.” She nods. “Then I’ll do it.”

Allison stumbles as Julia pushes past her. “But they’re going to kill you!”

“No, I’m going to be sacrificed to Artemis,” Julia says. She lifts her chin bravely. “If I couldn’t receive her blessing in marriage, then to do so in death is an honor.”

“But-”

“Uncle Danny was always kind to me,” Julia says. “I want you to bring him back home. And you can’t do that without Artemis’ blessing.”

“Julia.” Allison steps forward. “Your life is not worth less than his. Say the word, and I will get you out of here. I’ll kill them all if I have to.”

“Even my uncle? Both of them?” Julia asks. “Even my father?”

Allison’s jaw clenches. “Julia, you don’t have to do this just because they say you do.”

“I’m not,” Julia says. “This is my choice.” She steps past Allison and nods at Scott, her smile barely trembling. “Lead the way.”

 

“I can’t watch,” Stiles says. He ducks behind Scott’s head, takes several deep breaths, then turns back towards the altar. “No, I have to watch. This is bad, Scott. This is so bad.”

“It’s what Artemis demands,” Scott says mechanically. He’s said it so many times by now that it’s lost all meaning to his own ears. “We’re at the mercy of the gods.”

“This is bad,” Stiles mutters, watching Aiden raise his sword. Scott’s eyes water as it casts sunlight into his face, but he forces himself to keep his eyes open, forces himself to not look away as Aiden’s blade slices down to meet his own daughter’s throat –

A sudden gust rips across the harbor, forcing Scott’s eyes shut and knocking Aiden back. When Scott blinks his eyes open, a deer rests on the altar, blood spilling from its slit throat, and Julia is nowhere to be seen.

Deaton nods. “Artemis accepted the sacrifice.”

“Did she…” Stiles glances awkwardly at the deer, voice lowering to a whisper. “Did she turn her into a deer?”

Deaton stares at him, unimpressed. “That deer has antlers. It’s a buck, not a doe.”

“Oh,” Stiles says. “Oh! So Julia’s okay, then.”

“Wherever Artemis has taken her,” Deaton says. “But Aiden will never see his daughter again.” He leaves to join Aiden, still staring dumbfounded at the altar and his own dripping sword.

“That young girl has more guts than all of you combined,” Lydia says from next to them, arms crossed. “She put the needs of others before her own. She’s a hero.”

“Well, I don’t seem to recall you doing much of anything,” Stiles retorts. “So you’re not really any better than the rest of us.”

Lydia lifts her chin haughtily. “If it had been me, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I would gladly lay my own life down for the good of our cause. War isn’t about what the soldier wants; it’s about what the army needs.” She levels her gaze at them. “You would do well to remember that. Both of you.”

Stiles leans back as she walks away, gagging on the red hair that slaps him in the face. “Ugh. Myrmidons, am I right?” he says to Scott. He elbows him when Scott doesn’t respond. “Hey, Scott? Scotty?”

Scott tears his gaze from the deer’s gaping throat. “Huh? Yeah. Right. Myrmidons.” He laughs weakly. Stiles claps his back before heading down to the ships, and Scott’s head swivels back to the deer.

Its antlers are even grander than the buck Aiden had hunted, even grander than Isaac’s ram in the meadow. Scott shivers involuntarily and tries to convince himself that it’s just from the wind.

 

* * *

 

“Amazing,” Stiles says, staring at Jackson. “Just amazing.”

Jackson glares, eyes flashing. Literally flashing. They look kind of reptilian, now. “It’s not like I did this in _purpose_.”

“Amazing,” Stiles tells Scott. “This island is completely abandoned except for hundreds of completely harmless, even delicious snakes, and he manages to get bit by the only venomous one.”

“I don’t think it really counts as venomous,” Scott says, watching scales flicker along Jackson’s arm. “I mean, it’s not like he’s dying, he’s just kind of…changing.”

“This could be just the first stage!” Stiles says. “Step one, weird eyes and scales; step two, fangs and a tail; step three, _death_.”

“That is pure speculation,” Jackson says. “I do not have a tail.”

“ _Yet_ ,” Stiles says. “I feel weird eating this snake in front of you now. It could be, like, your cousin.”

“I’m _still human_.”

“Maybe in spirit,” Stiles says, gnawing thoughtfully on the roasted snake. “Wait, shit, what day is it?” He throws the snake over his shoulder and pulls a piece of wood out of his pocket, inspecting the tallies. “Son of a bitch. That dumb shepherd was totally right.”

“What?”

“One hundred and twenty-eight days later. Snake for lunch,” Stiles says. “Stupid shepherd and his stupid shawl.” He tosses the wood over his shoulder and leans closer to Scott. “Scott, we can’t let him leave the island.”

 _“I can hear you,”_ Jackson yells.

“See? He’s already getting super-hearing. Who knows what’s next. Death, probably.”

“I can hear you because I’m _right in front of you_.”

“Increased temper, that sounds like a symptom.”

“Stiles.” Scott sighs, turning to Jackson. “He’s right, though. We don’t know what’s happening to you, Jackson.”

“He’s dying,” Stiles says unhelpfully.

“But we can’t risk you hurting any of the other soldiers,” Scott continues. He pointedly doesn’t look at expanse of now-shredded trees that had been untouched when they landed. “Your control is kind of…slipping.”

“I am _perfectly_ in control!” Jackson roars. His arm snaps out involuntarily and punches clean through a tree. “…You may have a point.”

Stiles whistles at the hole in the trunk. “That tree was as wide as my forearm.” He nods at Scott. “Super-strength. That’s another symptom.”

“I’m not,” Jackson says loudly, then visibly tries to calm himself. “I’m not dying.”

“But you _are_ losing control of yourself,” Scott says, trying not to look down at Jackson’s newly scaled legs. “You’re a danger to the other soldiers.”

Jackson sighs heavily. “So you have to kill me.”

“What? No!” Scott says, at the same time that Stiles nods, “Exactly.” He shoves Stiles. “No, Jackson, we’re not killing you. You haven’t hurt anyone yet-”

“ _Yet_ ,” Stiles repeats ominously.

“-but we don’t really know what’s happening to you, and – okay, your claws are dripping now and that’s kind of freaking me out.”

Jackson lifts his dripping hands – claws. “I have claws now?” he says faintly.

“So, uh,” Scott says. “We can’t let you hurt anyone. But, uh, this island doesn’t have anyone to hurt, so…”

“You’re leaving me on this island?” Jackson demands.

“There’s plenty of food and water,” Scott says. “And we’re going to find a way to help you. It just might…take a while.”

“Kinda hard to ask the natives for advice when they’re trying to kill you,” Stiles says, shrugging. “War makes people so cranky.”

Jackson sighs. “Fine. But if you don’t come back, I’m going to be pissed.” He takes off his bow and quiver and holds them out to Scott. “Take care of my soldiers, okay?”

Scott tries not to recoil at the goopy liquid oozing from Jackson’s claws. “You keep those,” he says. “Hale gave them to you. They’re yours. And I promise I’ll look after your soldiers.”

Jackson nods, dropping the bow and quiver onto the soft sand. “Well. Good luck getting Danny back.”

“Thanks,” Scott says.

“Good luck not dying,” Stiles says.

Jackson rolls his eyes. “Get him the hell off my island before I kill him out of spite.”

“Spite, that’s probably a symptom!” Stiles yells as Scott drags him to the rowboat. “We’re never coming back for him, are we.”

“He might kill us the next time we set foot on this island,” Scott says. He pushes the boat into the water, and they start rowing back to the ships. “I _am_ going to look for a way to help him, but I don’t know even know where to start. Only people from here would know about the snake, and none of them are going to willingly help us.”

“And, y’know, the impending war takes a _slight_ priority over one soldier,” Stiles says. “Don’t worry about it. Just focus on what you’re gonna tell Rhys to get him to hand Danny over without a fight.”

“He won’t,” Scott says. “If they wanted to let Danny go, they would’ve done it already. Ethan and I are just going as a formality.”

“Yeah, good luck getting anything done with that guy standing next to you,” Stiles says. “He’s not exactly the brightest bulb in the room. Hey! I should go with you.”

“No, you definitely shouldn’t. You’d probably just end up punching Matt in the face.”

“Well, he deserves it,” Stiles says. “He took advantage of Ethan’s hospitality and stole his stuff. Like, not just Danny, I mean he took actual gold and jewels, too.”

Scott sighs. “And that’s why you’re not coming.”

“Fine. Have your boring pointless treaty without me.” He stops rowing to look Scott in the eye. “Be careful, okay? Troy’s prince doesn’t respect a host’s hospitality; who knows what they’ll do to a guest.”

“I’ll be fine, Stiles,” Scott says. “They’re not all Matt. Besides, I’m going there with the king of Sparta. If a few princes of Troy can take us down, then maybe we don’t deserve to win this war, after all.”

Stiles shakes his head with a chuckle. “I swear, you start sounding more and more like a Spartan every year. Derek’s been a bad influence on you.” He winces, watching Scott’s hands clench around his oar. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought him up.”

“No, it’s okay,” Scott says. He starts rowing again. “I miss him, though. I wish I could see him again.”

“Hey.” Stiles claps his shoulder, smiling encouragingly. “You will. As soon as we win this war, you’ll see him again. You’ll be back home with him before you know it.”

Scott shakes his head. “Something tells me it’ll take longer than that.”


	4. Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Full cast list.](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com/post/97926720096/whos-who-in-i-will-wait-aka-my-scerek)

“Dad! Dad! _Dad!_ ”

Derek sits upright in bed, blinking away sleep as Liam runs in with a tiny bundle of fur cupped in his hands. “Dad, Pom-Pom had puppies!” he yells.

“People are sleeping, Liam.”

“Pom-Pom had _puppies_ ,” Liam repeats in a whisper that’s practically as loud as before. Derek stands, stretching slowly, and follows his son out of the room. “And Erica let me help with the birth, and Braeden said it was okay for me to come wake you up because the puppies need to get to know their master.”

“You’ll be the one in charge of them, not me,” Derek says. “Just like you took care of Pom-Pom and her siblings.”

“But I didn’t _really_ take care of Pom-Pom,” Liam says. He pulls Derek to kneel down next to the litter, petting Pom-Pom’s head. “You did. I was too little. I didn’t even name them.”

“Well, you can certainly name these,” Derek says. “How many are there?”

“Six, and you have to hold them so they get used to your scent,” Liam says. He picks up the sleepy pups one by one and starts piling them in Derek’s arms while Erica and Braeden watch in amusement. “This one’s Poppy, and this one’s Blackberry, and that’s Narcissus-”

“Narcissus?” Derek asks, looking down at the squirming pup. “You’re naming him Narcissus?”

“Yeah, like the flower,” Liam says. “Pay attention, Dad. If you get their names mixed up, you’re going to give them a complex.” Braeden bites down on her lip, shaking with barely repressed laughter. “And this one’s Cypress, and then that one’s Apple.”

Derek stares down at Apple’s golden fur. Then she wiggles into the pile of pups in his lap, and he’s lost her. “Liam, they’ve just been born. How can you tell them all apart?”

“Well, of course I can,” Liam says. He tilts his head. “You can’t?”

Derek glances at Erica, who shrugs unhelpfully. “I guess it’s because I wasn’t here when they were born.” He nods at the pup still cradled in Liam’s arm. “Who’s that one?”

Liam ducks his head. “I love them all, but he came to me first and he’s kind of my favorite, don’t tell them, okay?” he whispers. “His name’s Asphodelus.”

Derek blinks. “Asphodel?”

“Asphodelus.”

“As in, the flower of the Underworld. The flower of the dead.”

“Well, we eat the roots, don’t we?” Liam says. “It’s for us, too. I don’t know, Isaac’s been teaching me a lot about the Underworld and, well.” He shrugs down at the puppy. “He just looks like an Asphodelus to me. I can change his name if you-”

“No,” Derek says. He leans over, mindful of the pups in his lap, and gently strokes the pup in Liam’s hands. “It’s a good name.” He laughs. “Named them all after plants just like your Papa, huh?”

“It’s a long-standing tradition in this family,” Erica says. She reaches out and tweaks Liam’s cheek, ignoring his squirming protests. “His grandmother named her first pup Barley, you know.” She gathers the pups from Derek’s lap and moves them back to the pen with their mother. “And now it’s time for everyone to go to sleep. That means you, too, Liam.”

“But-”

“They’ll be here in the morning,” Braeden says. “Boyd will show you how to take care of them. And when they’re big and strong enough, I’ll take you on your first hunt.” She turns when Liam doesn’t answer. “Something wrong?”

“It’s just,” Liam says in a small voice, cradling Asphodelus to his chest. “I wanted to wait to go on my first hunt with Papa.”

Braeden glances at Derek. “Liam,” Derek says, curling an arm around his son’s shoulders, “Papa’s still away at war. And wouldn’t it be cool for you to be able to show _him_ how to hunt when he gets back?”

“But he’ll be back soon,” Liam says, jaw clenching as his voice starts to shake. “And you said Papa promised he’d teach me, and I’m gonna wait for him because we don’t break our promises.”

“We don’t,” Derek agrees. “But you’re getting older. You’re going to have to learn, even if he isn’t here.”

“But _he’ll be back soon_ ,” Liam insists, anger leeching into his voice. Asphodelus whines softly in his hands, and Liam’s face falls as he soothes the pup.

“He’ll be back soon,” Erica says. “But in the meantime, Liam, you have to continue with your lessons. Now bring Asphodelus back to his mother so he can sleep.”

Liam steps carefully into the pen and lays Asphodelus alongside his siblings. He strokes each fuzzy head before gently hugging their mother. “Goodnight, Pom-Pom.” He hugs Erica goodnight, then takes Braeden’s hand with a nod at Derek. “Night, Dad.”

Derek suppresses a sigh as Liam leaves without offering him so much as a hug. “I love you, Liam,” he calls to his son’s retreating back.

Liam hesitates, turns, and hurries back to throw his arms around Derek’s middle. “I love you, too, Dad.” He waits until Derek kisses the top of his head, then tugs Braeden out of the room as quickly as he can without actually running.

“He’ll be all right, Derek,” Erica says. She checks the dogs one last time before standing, smoothing down her skirt. “He’s just struggling a little. It’s hard to miss someone you never knew.”

“Will he even recognize Scott when he comes back?” Derek asks. “Every year he gets older is another year he doesn’t know his father. I can only tell him so much; they’re all just stories to him.”

“Then it’s up to you to keep Scott alive for the both of you,” Erica says. “How’s that tree in your room doing? You still taking care of it?”

“It’s really maturing,” Derek says. “Stronger than ever.”

Erica hums. “Liam loves Scott,” she says. “Even though he’s never met him, he loves him because of you. That’s enough for him.”

“It won’t always be,” Derek says. “When he gets older-”

“That’s for him to decide, not you.” Erica nods towards the door. “You should get some sleep.”

He nods and leans down into the pen, gently petting the new mother. She leans up and licks his hand, eyes as bright as they had been when Derek watched Scott introduce her to an infant Liam, all those years ago. “Goodnight, Pomegranate.”

 

* * *

 

“Allison,” Scott says as he steps carefully into her tent, “I understand that you’re upset, but could it be possible that you’re slightly overreacting?”

“Overreacting?” Allison repeats, eyes narrowing. “After the way Aiden disrespected me, _I’m_ the one overreacting?”

“By sitting out the war and keeping all your soldiers from fighting, too?” Scott says. “Yeah, kind of.”

Allison sits down with a huff. “Scott, this war has been going on for nine years. I’ve respected Aiden’s authority, I’ve obeyed his commands, I’ve gone where he’s told me to go, and I have won _many_ victories in all of our names and above all, his.” She tilts her head, tension coiling beneath her shoulders. “All I ask is that he respects me in return. And he has not. So I will not fight for him any longer, and neither will my soldiers.”

“Allison.” Scott drops to one knee. “We’re dying out there without you.”

For a moment, Allison wavers. “Then why did Aiden send you to beg me for help instead of coming himself?” she asks. She laughs humorlessly. “I’m tired of this war, Scott. Lydia and I are going home, and we’re taking all of my soldiers with us.”

“Do you really think you’ll be able to leave here?” Scott says. “The Trojans are all over us. They won’t let anyone leave their shores. Even the gods have joined the battle.” He leans closer. “I know you can see them, too. I know you can see Apollo standing with the Trojans. I know you can see Athena standing with us. Do you really think either of them would let you leave in the middle of war?”

Allison shoots to her feet. “I don’t care what the gods want from this war. If they’re getting involved, all the more reason for us to leave. And you’re right, Scott. I can see them. I can see Athena watching over you, just like your shepherd from before. But if you think she wouldn’t sacrifice you in a heartbeat to achieve her ends, you’re mistaken.” She crosses her arms, walking to the far side of the tent. “Take it from the child of a god, Scott: to be blessed by one is no gift at all.”

“I know,” Scott says. He sits back heavily. “That’s not the first time someone’s told me that.”

She looks over her shoulder with a bitter twist to her mouth. “Danny would know better than most,” she says. “Blessed with beauty by his kingly father, blessed as a prize by Aphrodite to sate her own vanity. And look at him now: a prisoner, despised by all, no home to call his own.” Her lip curls. “We children are truly blessed.”

Scott frowns. “What did you mean by Aphrodite?” he asks. “I saw her on the field; I thought she was only here to guard her son.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Allison says. She walks towards him, eyes simmering with anger. “See, this is what you learn when your parent’s an immortal god. This is what you learn when they bathed you in Styx because having a weak mortal for a child just wasn’t _good enough_ for them.” Her voice raises, and her lips twitch as she calms herself. “Matt was called to judge who of the goddesses was the fairest. A result of a skirmish at my parents’ wedding, you see. Aphrodite offered him Danny if he chose her over Hera and Athena, and, well.” She spreads her hands, and her laughter grates across Scott’s ears. “Here we are. That’s why your precious Athena is on your side. She may have chosen you as her champion now, but just wait until you need her help. She’ll abandon you. The gods always abandon you in the end.” Allison shakes her head. “That’s why there’s no such thing as fate.”

Scott gets to his feet. “I understand, Allison,” he says, “but I can’t afford to think like that. I can’t worry about the gods’ plans; I just want this war to be over. I just want to go home.”

“So do I,” Allison says. Her arms fall to her sides. “I’ve only ever considered you my friend, Scott. But I can’t help you. You understand.”

“I do,” he says. He turns for the door, then pauses. “I’m sorry I brought you into this.”

“You didn’t bring me into anything,” Allison says. “I chose to go. I would never let Lydia go somewhere I wouldn’t follow. That’s why we’re leaving.” She holds her arms out. “I could care less about your allies, or your cause. But I wish you the best, Scott.”

“And I wish you the best, Allison.” He hugs her tightly, then leaves the tent with one last nod. As the flap swings shut behind him, he sighs heavily, shoulders slumping under a weight that seems to get heavier with each passing day.

“I take it it didn’t go well, huh?” Stiles asks, falling into step beside him as he trudges across the beach.

“I don’t know why Aiden keeps sending me to talk to people for him,” Scott says. “The last time I actually managed to convince someone of anything was over a decade ago.”

“Hey, you’re still our big idea guy,” Stiles says. “Just because everyone’s getting battle fatigue doesn’t mean you’re any less awesome than you’ve always been. And, hey, good news: Matt’s agreed to duel Ethan. We’re finally gonna end this freaking war!”

Scott follows Stiles to the gathered crowd, where Matt paces under Ethan’s steady glare. “Wow. It’s really happening.”

Stiles grins. “See? We didn’t need Allison after all. It all ends, right here, right now.” He shakes his head. “How it should’ve been from the start, really. Not Aiden and Parrish leading us. Ethan and Matt, the ones with the actual stakes in this war.”

“Matt’s no commander, though,” Scott says. “And you know if it came down to a duel between Ethan and Parrish, Ethan wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Yeah, but Parrish isn’t the one who stole Ethan’s husband in the first place,” Stiles says, watching Matt with a bitter curl to his lip. “I’m just glad this is finally going to be over. I’ve been trying to hold off the Trojans, and Athena’s blessed me with her help, but I’m no Allison, Scott. We all know it. No one can rally us the way Allison can.”

Scott watches Matt lift his spear. “Well, maybe we won’t need any rallying, anymore.”

It’s far from an even fight, and even Stiles grimaces at the imbalance. Once their spears have been thrown and their swords are drawn, Ethan fights like a man possessed, raining down relentless blows while Matt struggles to protect himself. His scream cuts through the Achaeans’ roar as Ethan slices the back of his leg, dropping him into the dirt unarmed and unshielded.

Ethan raises his sword over him, teeth bared in a snarl, but a sudden flash of red passes over Matt and forces Scott’s eyes shut. When he regains his vision, blinking away images of pale arms and lips red as blood, Ethan’s sword is buried deep in the dirt while the soldiers stare in confusion around him. “Where is he?” Ethan roars, pacing the empty clearing. “Bring him back to finish this!”

Stiles blinks at Scott. “What just happened?” he asks. “Did Matt just…disappear?”

Parrish steps into the clearing, looking every bit as confused as the Achaeans as he calls his own soldiers to find his brother. “That flash of red,” Scott says. “Did you see it?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I mean, kind of. It just kinda blinded me, really. What _was_ that?”

“Aphrodite,” Scott says. “She pulled Matt away before Ethan could kill him.” He squints at the sky, following the faint shimmers past the gates of Troy and into the palace. “She brought him back to the city. To safety.”

“But why?” Stiles asks. “She’s the goddess of _love_ , not war. I thought that Brett kid was her son.” He jabs a finger at the prince standing near Parrish. “Why does she care about Matt? He’s not even that good of a warrior. I mean, his best weapon is the _bow_. What kind of weakling uses that in battle?” One of Jackson’s archers glares at him. “Not like that, I mean, you guys are very formidable archers and I really appreciate the way you can make it rain with your arrows. But Matt can barely even fight in close combat. What’s up with that.” The soldier rolls his eyes and moves away. Stiles turns back to Scott. “But really, though. I don’t get it. Why would Aphrodite step in?”

“Because she’s personally invested in Matt,” Scott says, remembering what Allison had told him. “She gave Danny to Matt as a reward, so she doesn’t want to let Matt die.”

“Wait, _what?_ ”

“Allison told me,” Scott says. “Danny was Matt’s prize for helping Aphrodite win against Hera and Athena, so-”

“So she stopped Ethan from _ending this war?_ ” Stiles demands. “Are you kidding me? This could have been over! We could’ve-”

A Trojan-tipped arrow whistles past them, grazing Ethan’s cheek and landing in the dirt. Blood drips down Ethan’s face as he turns slowly towards Parrish, who stares at the arrow in resignation.

“So much for peace,” Scott mutters, and then fighting erupts around them.

“Scott!” Stiles yells. “You can see the gods, right?”

“Yeah,” Scott says. “Why?”

“Where are they?” Stiles demands. “Who’s with the Trojans now?”

He can see Apollo’s sun-bright shine out of the corner of his eye, but, “Stiles, don’t go after the gods.”

“Then they shouldn’t have interfered!” Stiles shouts, hefting his spear. “If Aphrodite wants to interfere in our mortal war, then I’m going to treat her like any other soldier. Where is she?”

“She’s not here,” Scott says. “She’s probably with Paris, Stiles, don’t-”

Stiles shoves Scott to the side, and an arrow sinks into his arm. “Get out of my way, Scott,” Stiles says, as he rips the arrow free. He raises his spear, ignoring the blood streaming down his arm. “Athena!”

Scott stumbles back as silver mist settles over Stiles’ body. “Oh, no.”

“If Aphrodite won’t come back to fight, then I’ll make her,” Stiles says, face twisted into a snarl. He stalks forward, pushing Scott out of his way. “She wants to protect her chosen few, then let’s see her do it. _Brett!”_

The prince turns from further up on the hill, and his eyes widen at Stiles’ glowing form. Stiles grins and dives into the crowd of Trojans, cutting them down mercilessly.

Scott tries to follow the silver glow of his friend, but the mob of soldiers closes around him. When he beats back several Trojans and can finally look back at the hill, he watches Stiles hurl a giant rock at Brett, dropping him in his tracks and knocking him out cold. Red light begins to swirl around them as Stiles reaches for his sword. “Oh, no,” Scott mutters, and starts fighting his way towards them.

Aphrodite appears on the hill, clutching her son to her chest as she backs away. Stiles looks up at her, then down at the silver mist curling around his spear, then laughs. “Oh, _no_ ,” Scott groans, and then Stiles leans back and throws his spear at the immortal goddess of love.

She clutches her wrist, crying like a wounded dove as golden ichor spills between her fingers, and flees with a whirl of her blood-red hair. Stiles laughs as he retrieves his spear, and laughs as he returns to finish Brett off, and laughs even as Apollo’s blinding form lifts the unconscious Trojan into his arms. The silver mist vanishes from Stiles’ spear. “Stiles!” Scott yells.

Apollo bats away Stiles’ spear easily, and pushes aside two more blows from his sword before knocking him to the ground. Scott runs up the hill, watching the sun-god bend his head to whisper in Stiles’ ear. Stiles nods, bowing his head, and Apollo carries Brett away.

“Stiles,” Scott pants as he finally catches up to him, “Stiles, you gotta stop picking fights with gods.”

“Yeah, Apollo just scared the shit out of me,” Stiles says. He shakes himself, wincing at the arrow wound in his arm. “The Trojans are smoking us, aren’t they?”

Scott glances around the battlefield. “Yeah, a little bit.”

“Man, we could really use Allison right now,” Stiles mutters, before raising his shield and ordering their soldiers to retreat.

Scott presses close to his side as he helps him back towards the ships. “No more attacking gods, Stiles, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles says. “I’m still buzzing from Apollo, man, that was – that was terrifying.”

An inhuman roar echoes from the Trojans’ ranks, and Scott watches a bright red figure materialize next to Parrish, blue eyes blazing like the heart of an inferno. “ _That’s_ terrifying.”

“Who’s that?” Stiles asks. “I can’t see them.”

“That would be Ares.”

“Oh,” Stiles says. He slumps against his chariot. “The god of war is with the Trojans. Well, shit.”

“You gonna be okay here?” Scott asks. “I need to check on the wounded.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles says, swaying slightly. “Still kinda feel like my heart’s gonna jump out of my chest, but don’t worry, I’m cool.”

“Okay,” Scott says, turning to leave. He hesitates. “Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t attack any more gods.”

“You got it, buddy.”

“I mean it.”

“Trust me, Scott,” Stiles says with a laugh that’s just a shade under hysterical. “I don’t care if Allison herself tells me to go after Ares, I’m not going to do it.”

 

He’s just finished wrapping a soldier’s arm when an enraged shriek blows across the entire field. His head shoots up, along with everyone else’s, and watches a fiery column rise from the battlefield and swirl towards Mount Olympus amidst echoing laughter. Scott glances back towards Stiles’ ship, where his chariot is noticeably absent. “Oh, for the love of-” he mutters, and turns to the next soldier.

Stiles rolls up in his chariot several wounded soldiers and one deeply judging glance from Deaton later. “Stiles,” Scott says.

“No, okay, it’s totally cool!” Stiles says quickly. He wiggles his ichor-splattered spear cheerfully as silver mist fades from around him. “Athena totally had my back. She said I could go after him!”

“Stiles.”

“C’mon, look at that morale boost!” Stiles says. “Now that Ares is gone, we’re finally getting the upper hand again!”

_“Stiles.”_

He slumps. “I know, I know. I wasn’t supposed to go after any more gods.” He brightens. “But seriously, it was Athena’s idea.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“Aw, come on, don’t give me the disappointed face!” Stiles leaps out of his chariot. “Seriously, Scott. I wouldn’t have done it if Athena hadn’t told me it would work.” He spreads his arms, and Scott notices the arrow wound from before is completely gone. “And look! It did!”

“He’s right, you know,” Deaton says, appearing next to them. Stiles yelps in surprise and trips over his own god-stabbing spear. “Wounding Ares turned the tide in our favor. We should take advantage of it while we can.”

“I’m on it,” Stiles says, saluting Deaton before hopping back into his chariot. “Crush ‘em on their own gates.” He pauses, looking down at Scott. “You’re not really mad at me, right?”

Scott sighs. “I was just worried,” he says. “Going up against gods…we don’t have a chance against them. I just want you to be careful.”

“Well, there aren’t any more gods around, now,” Stiles says. “Just some good old-fashioned mortal fighting. And if I somehow get cut down by some Trojan foot soldier, then frankly I deserve that.”

“Don’t take on Parrish.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” Stiles says. “That’s not my fight. Besides, I need to stick around long enough to finish off Brett.” He nods at Deaton, then drives back into battle with a whoop.

Deaton glances down at Scott. “The gods themselves have joined the war,” he says. “You understand what that means, right?”

“That we’re all just pawns in their little games?” Scott says. “That this war was never just about Ethan and Matt, or even Danny? That this is never going to end until one of us completely destroys the other?”

“Actually, I meant that this war is finally beginning to end,” Deaton says. Scott drops head. “But you’re right, too.”

He’d kind of hoped that he was wrong. Scott’s tired of fighting for his life, and he’s tired of taking it away from others. “Don’t suppose you’ve got some nice advice right now?” he asks, trying for hopeful and sounding closer to desperate. Deaton merely raises an eyebrow before walking away. Scott sighs. “Right.”

 

* * *

 

“Well, this looks pretty terrible.”

Scott turns away from the burning ship. “Great observation, Lydia-” he begins, then freezes when he sees the breastplate of Allison’s armor. “I mean, Allison.” He follows a trail of red hair up to Lydia’s unimpressed face. “I mean, Lydia?” Someone nudges his shoulder, and he turns to see Allison, unarmed and unhappy, on his other side. “Allison? …I’m confused.”

“We’re dying out there,” Lydia says.

“ _They’re_ dying out there,” Allison corrects.

“ _We_ are dying out there,” Lydia says firmly. “Unlike you, Allison, I swore an oath to come here. And when I commit to something, I _commit_ to it.” Allison looks away, lips pressed together. Lydia turns to Scott. “If the Trojans burn our ships, none of us will be able to leave. My commander has _graciously_ allowed our troops to reenter the battlefield to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

“That’s…that’s great,” Scott says, slowly edging away from the tension simmering between Lydia and Allison. “But, um, why are you wearing Allison’s armor?”

“Because Allison will not be joining us,” Lydia says, smile tight. Allison tucks her helmet further under her arm with a huff. “But more importantly, what our army needs right now is more than just a few soldiers to join the fight. Our army needs morale.”

“And if they think Allison is leading them, then they’ll rally behind you,” Scott finishes, nodding slowly. He glances at Allison. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“That’s not up to her,” Lydia snaps. “If she doesn’t want me to wear her armor, she can wear it herself.”

Scott backs further away. Allison bites her lip. “Lydia,” she says, “I can’t…after everything Aiden’s done, I can’t support him. You know that.” She steps closer, cradling Lydia’s face with her hand. “I just want us to go home. This isn’t our fight, anymore.”

Lydia covers Allison’s hand with her own. “I swore an oath,” she says softly. “It’s still my fight. And if it’s still my fight, it’s still _our_ fight.” She presses a kiss to Allison’s wrist. “I’ll leave with you, Allison, but you have to let me uphold my oath.”

Allison nods, gripping her helmet in her hands. “Just to protect our ships, okay?” she asks. “Keep our soldiers safe, keep our ships safe. Let Aiden deal with Troy.” Lydia nods, and Allison kisses her gently before sliding the helmet over her head, tucking her red hair safely out of sight.

Allison backs away, brows creased, then turns towards their soldiers. “Myrmidons!” she calls, pointing towards Lydia. “Follow your commander!”

Lydia raises an eyebrow at Scott. “Shall we?” she asks sweetly, grinning beneath her helmet.

Scott glances past her to Allison, who nods. He nods back and hefts his spear. “We shall,” he says, and their soldiers charge forward.

The sight of Allison’s armor rallies the army almost immediately. Lydia pushes the Trojans back from the ships effortlessly, and they fall back to their own gates under the Achaeans’ renewed strength. “This is great!” Stiles crows, yanking his sword free from a dead Trojan and clapping Scott on the back. “I knew you could do it, Scott! Man, it’s so good to have Allison back.”

“It’s not-” Scott begins, but is cut off by a Trojan hurling a spear at them.

“Hey, man, don’t humble yourself,” Stiles says. He impales the Trojan easily and turns back to Scott. “You’re the only one she talks to, besides Lydia. You’re the one who got her to come around. And look at her, man.” He lifts his bloody sword, pointing it toward the gates of Troy. “I think – dude, I think she’s gonna take the gate.”

“The gate?” Scott repeats. He follows Stiles’ sword to Allison’s shining armor, advancing on Parrish and his soldiers at the gates. “But-”

“This is awesome!” Stiles whoops, throwing himself back into the fray and disappearing from sight. Scott pushes his way through the soldiers, fighting to reach Lydia before Parrish does. She’s a Myrmidon, she’s more than capable of holding her own against him, but –

“To Allison!” Ethan’s roar echoes somewhere near him, and Spartan soldiers rush past him. “To the gate!” A hand grips the back of Scott’s armor and tugs him upright. “Seriously, Scott, thank you,” Ethan says, pushing Scott in front of him as they follow his soldiers to the gates. “Thank you for getting Allison to come back. We-” He huffs a laugh. “We really needed this.”

“But it’s not-” Scott says, then freezes in place as the sunlight bouncing off Lydia’s shield begins to shine unnaturally bright. “Oh, no.”

“No, you’re the only one who could convince her,” Ethan says blithely. The sunlight coalesces into human form behind Lydia, lifting a gleaming arm. “Except maybe-”

_“Lydia!”_ Scott screams, and then Apollo strikes. He bats her sword away as easily as Stiles’, breaking her spear and knocking her helmet off in a single blow.

Parrish’s eyes widen as red instead of black hair tumbles free, as Apollo rips her armor away and his own hands are bathed in bright light. “Lydia?” Ethan gasps. “Scott, what’s – what happened to her armor? What’s going on?”

A Trojan hurls a spear into Lydia’s unprotected back. The Myrmidons swarm around her, but Parrish strides forward with a grim set to his jaw, sun-bright spear raised. “Apollo,” Scott whispers, as Allison’s words rush back to him with sudden clarity. “The gods always abandon you in the end.”

He doesn’t see Parrish drive his spear home, but the Myrmidons’ enraged roar is enough. The sight of Parrish backing into the safety of his Trojans, bending to pick up Allison’s armor with shaking hands, is enough. But when the soldiers finally push Scott forward to see Lydia’s body, blood flowing from deep wounds in her back and middle, his knees give out.

This is his fault.

Ethan drops next to Scott, swinging his shield onto his back as he picks Lydia up. “They’re trying to take her body!” he yells. He crouches down against the onslaught of Trojans, gritting his teeth as a spear jabs his arm.

Scott stumbles to his feet. “Achaeans!” he bellows, lifting his spear. “To me!” He helps Ethan stand with Lydia in his arms, and draws his sword. “Stay behind me. I’ll get you out of here safely. Duck!” He shoves Ethan back as an arrow whistles between them.

Ethan shudders and pulls Lydia closer against him. “I’m trusting you, Scott.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” Scott says, and drives his spear into a charging Trojan.

It’s a long fight off the battlefield, especially when Brett rallies his soldiers to bring Lydia’s body back to Troy. When the crowds finally clear and Scott sees Allison emerging from her tent, though, it takes all of his strength to not turn and run back into the fray.

“What’s going on, Scott?” she asks. “I heard Apollo, what…” Her voice trails off as she sees Ethan behind Scott, Lydia cradled close in his arms. “Lydia! Scott, get a medic!” She tugs Ethan down as he slowly lays Lydia onto a mat. “Don’t just stand there, get help!”

“Allison,” Scott says, voice creaking in his throat.

“Ethan, _go!_ ” Allison yells. Her hands flutter over Lydia’s face, her chest, brushing back hair stained dark with blood. “She needs…she’s…”

Scott kneels carefully as Ethan backs away. “I’m sorry, Allison,” he says. “She’s gone.”

“No, she isn’t!” Allison yells, the force in her voice knocking Scott back on his heels. She bends closer over Lydia, kissing her lips gently. “Lydia, you gotta wake up. We gotta go…we’re…” She touches her throat with shaking fingers, feeling for a pulse that will never come. “We’re supposed to go home together,” she chokes out, cradling Lydia’s cold face in her hands and pressing their foreheads together. “You promised me, Lydia. I don’t leave you, you don’t leave me. Lydia… _Lydia_ …”

An anguished howl tears from her throat, reverberating through Scott’s skull and all across the fields. He watches the battle cease behind them, their soldiers quaking under Allison’s roar and the Trojans turning to flee for their gates. He turns back as her voice cracks, and then Allison lunges and tackles him to the ground.

“Allison!” Ethan rushes forward to pull her away, but she knocks him off his feet with a jerk of her elbow.

“This is your fault!” she screams at Scott, raining punches down on his face. “The oath that brought her here, that was _yours_. You made that! You forced her to come here! You brought her to her – her de-” She stumbles over the word, hand trembling before smashing into his jaw. Scott tries to blink past dark spots clouding his vision, and a familiar flash of metal gleams above his head. _“Allison!”_ Ethan yells, and the dagger plunges down.

It buries into the dirt hilt-deep, so close to his skin that he feels the barest of nicks along his ear. Allison leans over him, arms braced heavily into the dirt as she sobs. “I’m sorry, Allison,” he says as stinging tears drop onto his face. Her legs clamp tighter around his arms, preventing him from reaching out to try to comfort her. When she sits back and turns towards Ethan, her face is completely expressionless. “Who killed her,” she asks calmly.

“What?” Ethan asks, caught off guard by her sudden composure.

Allison’s jaw tightens as she repeats herself slowly. “Who killed her.”

“Parrish,” Scott says. “After Apollo wounded her and broke her weapons.”

“Parrish,” Allison says, lifting her chin in contemplation. “And he couldn’t even kill her without Apollo’s blessing.” Her lips curve into a smile, or possibly a snarl. “Bring me my armor.”

Ethan steps back. “I can’t,” he says hesitantly.

Her mouth spasms before slipping back into her cold mask. “And why not?”

He glances at Scott before answering. “Parrish took it,” he says. “After he kil – he took your armor. He’s wearing it now.”

Allison stares at Ethan, eyes narrowing to slits, and then she throws her head back and laughs. Ethan jumps, looking bewilderedly at Scott. “He’s wearing my armor?” Allison demands, eyes blazing with mirth. “ _My_ armor? After what he’s done to my Ly…” She dissolves into giggles, climbing off Scott and helping him to his feet. “Oh, he thinks he’s worthy of my armor, does he? He thinks he’s as great a warrior as I am? He thinks he can take away what is _mine?_ ”

She pauses, glancing towards the Trojans’ camp just outside gates, and doubles over in laughter. “He won’t even camp within his own city! He thinks he’s invulnerable, just like me? He thinks he’s so favored by his precious Apollo? I was birthed by a god and bathed by Styx. I will call on Hephaestus himself to make me new armor, and then – then we shall see who among us really has the gods’ favor.”

Scott locks his knees to keep from backing away when Allison turns towards him. “Thank you for bringing her back to me,” she says. “She will need to be prepared for burial, but not until I send Parrish after her to the Underworld.”

Ethan shifts his weight uncomfortable next to Scott. “But,” he says hesitantly, “Her – the body will-”

“You may have started this war, Ethan, but you are dealing with the gods, now,” Allison says serenely. “Lydia’s body will be preserved for as long as I wish, _because_ I wish it. I will rejoin the war, and Hephaestus will forge me new armor. And I swear, by the river that has kept me safe for so long, that this will be the last sunset Parrish ever sees.” She nods at Scott. “You should rest. Tomorrow, Parrish and all of Troy will learn what it truly means to be blessed by the gods.”

Scott watches Allison and her soldiers carry Lydia into the tent. “Does she really think Hephaestus will forge her new armor?” Ethan asks faintly.

“She doesn’t think,” Scott says. He can see ghostly orange flames licking around the edges of her tent, and strain his ears to hear the faint ringing of a hammer. “She _knows_.”

“You told her Apollo wounded Lydia.”

“Because Apollo _did_ wound Lydia,” Scott says. “Did you ever meet a shepherd on the road to Aulis?”

“You mean, before the war?” Ethan asks. He blinks confusedly, but searches his memory anyway. “No, never.”

“I did,” Scott says. “The same one who told us about Artemis. I’ve seen the gods ever since.”

“That shepherd?” Ethan asks. “But he was just a prophet. Just because he knew things didn’t mean he was a god.”

“No, he wasn’t a god,” Scott agrees. “But he wasn’t a mortal, either.”

Ethan’s brow creases. He steps closer. “Then what was he?” he asks in a hushed whisper.

Scott looks out at the sunset, staining the sky a rich pink and scattering across the water like so many beautiful lights. The orange glow around Allison’s tent flickers higher, as if stoked by massive bellows. “Fate.”

 

“Wow,” Stiles says, staring wide-eyed at the battlefield. _“Wow.”_

“Yeah,” Scott says faintly.

Stiles points at the wet bodies piled up over both riverbanks. “There was a river here yesterday.”

“Yes, there was.”

“Well, at least she and Aiden kind of smoothed things over,” Stiles says. “So that’s nice, I guess.”

“Yeah, kind of.”

Stiles sighs heavily as their eyes follow the bright shine of Allison’s god-crafted armor. She cuts down the Trojans with technical precision, stabbing unerringly into their armor’s weak spots with quick, lethal strikes. Scott can’t see her face through her helmet, but he knows that it’s completely devoid of emotion, jaw tight with concentration as cold eyes search for Parrish at the gates. “It’s almost flawless, the way she slaughters them,” Stiles says. “Like watching a master at work. It should – this is a good thing, right? She’s driving everyone who’s left back into the city. This is a big victory for us, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Stiles repeats. He shivers. “Then why do I feel so uncomfortable?”

Scott’s eyes flick up to the gods, settled on a far hill and watching the carnage with detached curiosity. “I don’t know,” he says. “But I do, too.” Apollo gets to his feet and flies down to the battlefield, taking Brett’s form and dueling Allison to buy the Trojans enough time to flee behind the city walls.

The gates creak shut, and Allison whirls as Brett vanishes in a flash of light. Parrish steps forward slowly, head held high under Allison’s old helmet. “I gotta say,” Stiles tells Scott, “Going up against Allison, completely alone like that? He’s got guts.”

Allison pulls her helmet off and tosses it to the ground, drawing her shoulders back as her dark hair tumbles free. _“Come on!”_ she roars. Wind gusts across the fields, stirring the fallen Trojans’ clothing and rattling the gates at Parrish’s back. Parrish freezes, tensing so visibly that Scott can see the muscles in his arms shake, and then he breaks, tearing away from the gate as fast as his legs can carry him.

Stiles slumps against his chariot as Allison pelts after him. “I guess I spoke too soon.”

“He’s staring down his own death,” Scott says. “He’s allowed to be a little afraid.”

“A _little?_ ” Stiles says. “Scott, she’s chased him around the city walls twice. Lydia got taken down by a _god_ , and she didn’t run away.”

Scott watches Parrish slow to a stop as Matt runs out to meet him, carrying an extra spear. “He’s only human.”

Stiles frowns. “Hey, how did Matt get out there? The gates didn’t open.”

“That’s not Matt,” Scott says. The silver mist around his armor and weapons is faint, but clear as day to Scott’s eyes, and to Allison’s. “Just like that wasn’t Brett, before.”

“Apollo again?”

“No.” Scott shakes his head as Parrish easily dodges Allison’s spear and straightens to hurl his own. “This is Athena.”

“Athena?” Stiles grabs his shoulder, but Scott doesn’t dare look away from the warriors. Parrish’s spear flies true, but smashes to pieces on Allison’s god-forged shield. “But Athena helped _me_ before. Achaean, not Trojan. I thought she’s on our side.”

Matt disappears as Parrish reaches out to him for another spear, and he turns to watch Allison’s own spear guided back to her hand in a shower of silver mist. Allison’s bitter laughter echoes through Scott’s mind as realization dawns on Parrish’s face. _The gods always abandon you in the end._ “She is.”

For a long moment, the two champions stare at each other. Then Parrish nods, drawing his sword and raising his head high. Allison lifts her own chin as she shifts her spear to a throwing grip, and Parrish charges.

Stiles swallows audibly. “I don’t know if I can watch,” he murmurs, eyes glued to the duel. Allison’s eyes narrow as Parrish approaches, darting over her former armor to find its weakest point. Her weight shifts, her body pivots, her arm snaps out – and Parrish stops in his tracks, with Allison’s spear pierced neatly between the grooves of his armor and clean through his throat.

He crashes to his knees, gasping out last words past the blood pooling in his mouth. Allison bends close to hear them, tucking her lips close to his ear to whisper her own. Then she pulls her spear free in a spurt of blood, and Parrish’s lifeless body collapses into the dirt.

“That’s it, then,” Stiles says as they follow the other soldiers forward. “So what happens now?”

“We negotiate a ceasefire,” Ethan says, leading Allison’s chariot behind them. “We bury our dead, and they bury theirs.”

“No,” Allison says. She pulls out her dagger – the one Scott had used to lure her from Skyros, the one she had held over his head in barely-contained anger – and cuts deep slits in the backs of Parrish’s heels, tying him to the back of her chariot. “Not him.”

“Allison,” Scott says, stepping forward.

She sheaths her dagger and climbs into her chariot. “Don’t try to stop me, Scott,” she says calmly. “He took what was mine; I will not allow him the honor of a funeral.” Her horses take off with a flick of her wrist, and Parrish’s body trails through the dust behind her.

Stiles grimaces after her and the cheering soldiers that follow the chariot. “So that’s why I felt so uncomfortable, before,” he says. “Scott, you gotta talk to her.”

“She won’t listen to him,” Ethan says, shaking his head slowly. “She won’t listen to anyone, anymore.”

“But she listened to you, before,” Stiles says. “I mean, I’m glad we don’t have to worry about Parrish anymore, but – he deserves a funeral. You gotta get her to see that, just like you did last time.”

“I didn’t convince her to do anything,” Scott says. “Lydia did. And she’s gone, now.”

 

* * *

 

He stays out of Lydia’s funeral games as much as possible. It’s not that he doesn’t want to honor Lydia or celebrate her memory, but Allison drives her chariot through it all, and the sight of Parrish dragging through the dirt makes his gut churn. He’s grateful that, at least, the gods have decided to protect the body from damage.

Scott sits out the chariot race, and the boxing match, and the wrestling match – Ethan’s mouth tightens, and he hides in the back of the crowd during the event – but Stiles badgers him to enter the footrace. After Stiles gets a fair portion of the soldiers to cheer for him, too, Scott finally relents. He pours all of his energy into the race, as befitting Lydia’s memory, and outpaces the others easily. He straightens after catching his breath, turning in time to watch Deaton’s sister cross the finish line and jog the last few paces to shake his hand with an appreciative grin.

For a moment, he’s back in Sparta, Talia extending her hand to offer her son in marriage, and Scott’s head shoots up to the balcony where – but there is no balcony, only the cold walls of Troy, and Derek isn’t there to watch for him. A flash of dark hair and tanned skin catches his eye from the palace walls, though, mouth slanted in a familiarly inscrutable frown. Then Morrell’s hand closes around his, and he turns away to meet her smile.

When he looks back at the palace walls, after Allison awards him his prize and the crowd cheers on the next event, Danny is nowhere to be seen.

It’s not that he’d forgotten about him. None of them could, really, not when they’ve been at war for nearly a decade, but with the gods descending from Olympus to fight, and Allison parading around the body of Troy’s crown prince like a grotesque bauble – there’s just so much that has happened, so much beyond Danny himself. He hadn’t forgotten the idea of Danny, or his part in the war, but…Scott hadn’t even remembered what he’d looked like until he’d seen him on the palace wall. He can barely even remember his face now. He’d stopped thinking about Danny as more than just a symbol years ago – Danny, his husband’s cousin, a real, living person with thoughts and feelings who left Sparta _because_ he wanted to be more than just a symbol – and shame courses through his body.

He hadn’t forgotten about Danny. But he’d forgotten him, all the same.

Scott watches Ethan hover on the edge of the crowd, looking anywhere but Troy’s palace. He’s never forgotten Danny; Scott can see it in the tension of his jaw and the careful tilt of his head. But he’s never spoken to anyone about him, either, not in the entire ten years of war. Scott’s struck by the realization that, for all that Ethan called them to war, he has no idea what Ethan really wants from the end of it, anymore.

Aiden throws an arm around his brother’s shoulders, squeezing him close until Ethan musters up a tired smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Aiden returns it, knocking their heads together fondly before stepping forward to participate in the javelin competition.

To Scott’s surprise, Allison calls off the event with a laugh, declaring Aiden to be the uncontested champion of the javelin throw. It’s true – they’ve all seen Aiden’s enemies fall under the deadly strength and accuracy of his spear – but even Aiden looks stunned by her admission, and even more stunned when she gives him the prize with a small dip of her head.

“So,” Stiles says, sidling up to Scott as Allison and Aiden shake hands. “That’s good, right? Mommy and Daddy aren’t fighting anymore?”

Scott winces. “Please never call them that ever again.”

“Yeah, I’m regretting it already,” Stiles says with a shudder. “But, still, this is good, right? Things are really starting to turn around.”

Scott doesn’t look at Parrish’s dirt-streaked body, still tied to Allison’s chariot. “Not everything.”

 

The quiet creak of a chariot snaps him out of sleep, and he peers out of his tent to see a ghostly blue figure driving Rhys into the night, with a shrouded bundle held tight in the king’s arms. Scott stares after the chariot in confusion, then his brain catches up with the bundle’s shape and he scrambles for Allison’s tent. The back of her chariot is empty, and he’s still squinting at the ties when Allison calls softly, “I know you’re out there, Scott.”

He steps inside. “Did I just see-” he begins, then stops when he sees Allison’s tear-stained face. “What’s wrong? How can I help?”

Allison sniffs. “I forgot,” she says, voice quavering. “I forgot that he was a son, and a father, and a husband, and he had a family that I took him away from just like he took away mine-” Her voice breaks, and Scott pulls her into a hug as she cries.

“Rhys came to beg me for his son’s body,” Allison says, taking a breath, “and I forgot – he’s just a mortal father, Scott, just like _my_ father. And he had to beg his sworn enemy just to bury his son, a parent burying their child, and I…I did that to him. I forgot that – his son died, alone, away from home, just like I will, just like my father…my poor father…”

He strokes her hair. “You won’t die away from home, Allison. You’ll lead us to victory, and you’ll come home to your father. You said it yourself: there’s no such thing as fate.”

“No.” She pulls back, shaking her head gently. “No, I’m going to die here. I’m never going to leave these shores.”

“But you-”

“It’s not fate, Scott,” Allison says. “It’s my choice. I can’t go where Lydia can’t follow. She died here, and so will I. We came here together, and we’re leaving here together.”

“Allison,” Scott begins. He bites his lip. “She’d want you to live.”

“That’s not up to her,” she says. “I don’t want to live without her.” She sits down, patting the spot next to her. “If it were you, Scott. If Derek had disappeared down to the Underworld, what would you do?”

His heart jolts as he realizes that he doesn’t even know if Derek is still alive. “Derek’s fine,” Allison says quickly. “Hermes told me about your family before he took Rhys back to Troy. He wouldn’t lie to me.” She leans closer, squeezing his hand. “But if he’d died, Scott. What would you do?”

“I’d – I’d go down there after him,” Scott says. Allison nods. “I’d go to the Underworld, and I’d convince Hades to let him go. I’d bring him back with me. I’d be able to, I know I would.”

She laughs softly. “You’re such an optimist, Scott. I admire that, I really do. But that’s where we differ. You love Derek enough to lead him anywhere, to a new home or a new life. It’s amazing that you can trust him to always be right there behind you. But me?” She smiles sadly. “I love Lydia enough to follow her home.”

Scott’s breath leaves him in a rush. His home is wherever Derek is. If he couldn’t…if Derek couldn’t… He drops his head. “I understand.”

“I knew you would,” Allison says. She sighs. “Scott, I’m tired of fighting gods. There’s only one god I want to face anymore, and I know he’ll welcome me with open arms. The gods always abandon you in the end, but he never will. He’s taking care of Lydia, and he’ll take care of me when my time comes.”

“It isn’t your time yet,” Scott says. “It can’t be.”

“No, not just yet,” Allison says. “But it will be, soon.” She taps her fingers together. “Make sure my ashes are mixed with Lydia’s, okay? So we’ll always be together.”

He nods. “I will. I promise.”

“Thank you,” she says, hugging him tightly. “I won’t go down easy, you know. I have no intention of dying quietly.” She sits back, the corners of her lips curving up. “There’s just something so freeing in accepting your mortality, you know?”

Scott doesn’t know. “But you’re not entirely mortal,” he says. “You’re the daughter of a god, you bathed in Styx herself as a child. You’re…you’re not mortal the way the rest of us are.”

She pats his hand. “I’m more mortal than you think.”

 

* * *

 

They’re woken the next day by wailing laments from within Troy’s walls. One travels louder and clearer than the rest, piercing into Scott’s heart like the sweetest, most melancholy strains coaxed from Apollo’s own lyre. He finds Ethan sitting on a rock high above the camp, staring at the palace in utter devastation. “You heard him, too,” he says as Scott sits next to him. “You heard Danny.”

“I think we all did,” Scott says. He rubs sleep from his eyes. “I’d forgotten how beautiful his voice is.”

“I didn’t,” Ethan says. “I wish I could.”

Scott watches him carefully. “Do you really?”

He doesn’t look at Scott, doesn’t look anywhere but the palace where Danny laments for Parrish. “He _left_ me,” Ethan says. “He chose Matt over me, he chose Troy over me, and he’s mourning _Parrish_. I don’t even know if…” He tears his gaze away from the city walls, staring at Scott with painfully vulnerable eyes. “Do you think he’d even mourn me if I died?”

Scott’s mouth falls open. “Ethan, I…”

Ethan shakes his head with a bitter sort of laugh. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. The hell kind of question is that, right?”

“It’s a valid one,” Scott says. He twists his hands together as he tries to figure out what to say. “But…it’s one that none of us would really be able to answer.” Ethan nods, staring down at the rocks. “You still love him, don’t you?”

“Pathetic, right?” Ethan says, snorting derisively. “He clearly doesn’t feel that way about me. He chose Matt over me; I should’ve just let him go. But all I could think – all I wanted – when you really love someone-”

“You’ll do anything to be with them again,” Scott finishes. He looks down to the edge of the camp, watching Allison kneel in front of Lydia’s tomb. “No matter what.”

Ethan nods. “I’m sorry I took you away from Derek,” he says. “I shouldn’t have invoked that oath.”

“Hey, I’m the one who came up with that oath,” Scott says. “And if it had been Derek, I would’ve done the same thing. I would’ve done anything to find him again, even just so I could hear him reject me to my face instead of leaving without saying goodbye.”

“He never said anything,” Ethan says. “Before I left to bury my uncle, Danny never…I didn’t know he was so unhappy.” He drops his head, scraping up loose gravel from the rock. “There was a lot I didn’t know about him, though. There’s a lot we didn’t talk about.”

“Like what?”

“His childhood. Or, well.” Ethan frowns. “This one part of his childhood. He told me a little bit about everything else, but there were a few years he just…never brought up. And I never told him about being banished from Mycenae.” He laughs. “That’s actually when I met him, the first time. When his father let Aiden and me live in Sparta. We were princes, even in exile, so we stayed in the palace, and one day I met this boy. He challenged me to a wrestling match, just completely out of the blue. Kicked my ass and laughed about it. Kicked Aiden’s ass, too.”

Scott smiles. “Aiden probably hated that.”

“Yeah, Aiden never talked to him again,” Ethan says, shaking his head fondly. “But every few days, the boy would find me and challenge me again. And he’d kick my ass, again, and then he’d tell me one thing that I was doing wrong. After a few months, I’d bruised just about every part of my body, but I finally managed to beat his cousin for the first time.” He sighs. “Of course, eventually I found out he was the crown prince of Sparta and I shouldn’t have been fighting him in the first place, and then I went back to Mycenae, so.”

“Huh,” Scott says. “Derek never told me about that.”

“He probably doesn’t remember,” Ethan says. “Aiden was always the memorable one out of the two of us. I don’t think Danny even remembers me from back then. He was different when I saw him again, anyway.”

“Colder?” Scott guesses.

“No, not really. Just…there was a wall there, you know? Maybe it just came with age, or ruling Sparta, or…”

“Or being the son of Zeus and the most beautiful person in the entire world?”

Ethan presses his lips together. “I mean, I didn’t think he was stunningly beautiful when we were younger.” Scott raises an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t think he was hideous or anything! I just – I was paying more attention to the fact that he kept kicking my ass, not how great he looked doing it.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “He always had a beautiful laugh, though. And his smile, when he actually meant it.”

Scott shakes his head, laughing softly. “I don’t think I ever saw him smile when he actually meant it.”

“He meant it less when he got older,” Ethan says. “I was never – if he’d just been Danny, the boy who always challenged me to be a better fighter, a better ruler…better everything, really.” He shrugs jerkily. “He made me better. I always loved that about him; it was something I could actually live up to, for him. But all that other stuff – I can’t live up to that. I can’t live up the son of Zeus. I could never be enough for the face that everyone in the world wants.”

“So you’re giving up?”

He shakes his head. “This war isn’t about me, Scott. It stopped being about me as soon as my brother had to sacrifice his own daughter. I’m not giving up on the war. I want Troy to fall just as much as everyone else. But no more than anyone else.” He dusts his hands off as he stands. “Allison negotiated a ceasefire with Rhys. We’re giving the Trojans time to mourn and bury their dead. And then we’re going to destroy them.”

Scott stays on the rock after Ethan leaves, after Stiles drops by with food, after Deaton sits with him for a while in contemplative silence. As the sky darkens, smoke rises over the walls of Troy. He watches the flames leap from Parrish’s funeral pyre, eerily reminiscent of Hephaestus’ glow when he’d forged Allison’s armor.

He looks out at the sky, the stars twinkling along the horizon as if dipping into the sea itself, and wonders if Derek’s watching them, too. He wonders if Derek takes Liam to watch sunsets on the beach the way they used to, if he still climbs to the top of Ithaca’s highest mountain and spends the night alone under the stars.

He wonders if Derek’s forgotten him, after all.


	5. Part V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Full cast list.](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com/post/97926720096/whos-who-in-i-will-wait-aka-my-scerek)

It’s almost anticlimactic, in the end. Allison scales the gates of Troy while they hold off the Trojans below, quickly rising beyond the reach of their spears as their arrows break on her shining armor. Matt appears on the wall, aiming his own dripping arrow at her, and Scott watches a sun-bright hand reach down to curl around his.

The arrow flies, guided by the flashing light, and pierces Allison in the heel. Scott hears a faint gasp above him, then a sigh like coming home from a long journey, and Allison’s hands slide free from the gate as she falls. By the time she lands in his arms, she’s already gone.

He almost doesn’t feel the spear that cuts into his arm, almost doesn’t hear Ethan’s bellow as he calls their soldiers to defend them. A hand grips his breastplate, tugging him forward as the Trojans close around them. “Scott,” Ethan’s voice says. “Scott, stay behind me. I’ll get you out of here safely.”

Scott cradles Allison close to his chest, swaying as Ethan yanks him out of an arrow’s path. He nods. “I’m trusting you.”

Ethan glances back, eyes flicking down to Allison’s body. “Well, that makes one of us,” he says with a sad smile, then hurls himself at the oncoming Trojans.

They mourn for weeks, and build a funeral pyre that burns all night long, and hold extensive funeral games. Aiden gives Allison’s armor to Scott for carrying her body to safety. It’s an honor, a huge honor to be granted armor that was crafted by Hephaestus himself and worn by their greatest warrior, but – it feels hollow, a weak consolation for Allison’s life. He pours her ashes into Lydia’s urn and buries their last remains together, then leaves the festivities of the camp to sit on a rock high above the battlefield and jutting out over the sea.

He’d known this day was coming, ever since that night in Allison’s tent, ever since he knelt before Lydia’s still-bleeding body – ever since he donned a disguise and brought jewels and daggers into Skyros, really. But now that it’s here, now that it’s over…it all feels so empty. It all feels so pointless. He just wants the war to be over. He just wants to go home.

Scott hears the light tread of sandals over stone, and then a soldier clears her throat behind him. “I’ll be back, soon,” he says, not looking away from the dark water. The soldier doesn’t move, so he turns around with a sigh. “What’s wrong?”

The soldier pulls off her helmet, and Scott’s eyes widen as familiar golden waves tumble free. “I feel like I should be asking you that,” Erica says. “You look terrible, Scott.”

“Well,” Scott says. “Ten years of war will do that to you. What’s with the armor?”

“Needed to blend in, didn’t I?” Erica says. She drops the helmet with a clunk and sits down next to him. “And there’s so many of these lying around, now.”

“Ten years of war,” Scott repeats. “It’s…it’s been a lot.”

“I know,” Erica says, petting his shoulder softly. “But it’s time for it to end. That’s why I’m here. Listen carefully.” Scott sits up. “Troy will not fall while they still have hope and safety. Take that away, and you’ll end the war.”

“Okay.” Scott nods. “So how do I do that?”

“Why do you think I’m gonna tell you that?”

Scott tilts his head at her, unimpressed. “Erica, I could’ve figured out the hope and safety thing on my own. You wouldn’t have come all this way just to tell me that vague.”

“Good point,” Erica says with a grin. “All right. Two clues: you’ll need Hale’s bow and Troy’s Palladium.”

“Their Palladium?” Scott repeats. “But that’s-”

“Athena’s own image, yes,” Erica says, nodding. “As long as it stays within Troy’s walls, the city is protected. She wants Troy’s destruction as much as you do.”

“So she wants me to steal it.” Erica nods. “And Hale’s bow?”

She shrugs. “All I know is that you’ll need it to take Troy down.”

“You know more than that.”

“Yeah, but I don’t really remember the details,” Erica says. “It’s hard to keep track of everything all at once, you know.”

Scott sighs. “Hale’s bow and Troy’s Palladium,” he says. Erica nods. “And then the war will finally be over.”

“Well, you’ve got to figure out the last bit on your own,” Erica says. “This is Athena, after all. She won’t guide your hand the way some of the other gods do. She’s going to make you work for it.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Scott says. “Hale’s bow is out on Lemnos right now.”

Erica snorts. “Easy enough.”

“With Jackson. Who’s spent the last ten years as a snake because I never managed to figure out how to help him.”

“He has claws and, like, limbs, though,” Erica says, waving her hands. “So I think that technically makes him more of a lizard. A humanoid lizard. Oh! That reminds me!” She takes off her breastplate and shrugs out of an odd-looking tunic, dyed red as blood. “I made this for him.”

Scott blinks as she dumps it into his lap, fingering the heavy fabric and its attached sleeves. “Will it make him more humanoid and less lizard?”

Erica shrugs. “It’ll probably do something, hopefully.” She claps his back and stands. “Well, good luck! Oh, and Isaac told me to tell you to have fun storming the castle.” Scott blinks. “Yeah, I told him you wouldn’t get that, yet. He always gets his centuries mixed up.” She shakes her head and turns to leave.

“Erica, wait!” He scrambles to his feet as she turns. “Um. I was wondering if you could tell me…” He ducks his head, kicking awkwardly at the rock. “I mean, if…I just…”

Her face softens. “Derek’s doing fine,” she says, stroking his arm gently. “He tells Liam about you every day. They-” She looks down, pressing her lips together. “We all miss you, back at home. But Derek misses you the most.”

“Will I-” Scott begins, but Erica cuts him off with a shake of her head. “Don’t ask me that, Scott,” she says softly.

He nods. “Sorry. And, thank you. For everything.” Erica hugs him tightly, then backs away and steps over the cliff. He doesn’t bother looking for her at the bottom; he knows she’s already long gone.

 

* * *

 

“You sure that thing’s going to work?” Stiles says, eyeing the blood-red tunic in Scott’s lap as they row to Lemnos.

“No,” Scott says. “But I hope it does.”

Stiles shakes his head. “You know I’ve got your back, man. But if he’s in a murdering mood, I hope he lunges for you instead of me.”

When Jackson sees them, he lunges for Stiles instead of Scott.

“Seriously?” Stiles yelps, jabbing forward with his spear while Jackson claws futilely at his shield. “It was _ten years ago!_ You can’t tell me you’re still pissed about that!”

“I think he’s more pissed about the ‘ten years’ part,” Scott says. He steps forward with the tunic, but Jackson’s tail – because he has a tail, now, and Stiles is never going to let either of them hear the end of it if they survive this – catches him in the chest and knocks him into the sand.

“Just hurry up with that cloth thing!”

“I’m trying!” Scott says, spitting out a mouthful of sand as he sits back up. He scrambles backwards as Jackson stalks towards him, dripping claws raised.

“Hey!” Stiles yells. He picks up a rock and bounces it off Jackson’s head. “Hey, ugly! Over here!” Jackson whirls back on Stiles with a snarl. “Amazing,” Stiles says as he ducks under a swipe from his claw. “Still falls for the ugly thing. He really hasn’t changed.”

Scott leaps forward and flings the tunic onto Jackson’s back, jamming the hood over his head. Jackson freezes in place, then abruptly falls face-first into the sand. They back away slowly, Stiles reaching out to tug Scott behind his shield. “Did it work?” he asks.

Jackson stands slowly, scales disappearing from his skin as he pushes his arms through the sleeves. He blinks his eyes open – his regular blue eyes, nothing reptilian in sight – and glares at them. “What the hell took you so long?”

“Uh, you’re welcome,” Stiles says. “We _were_ kind of busy fighting a war, y’know.”

Jackson rolls his eyes and pulls his bow and quiver out of a hollow tree. “Whatever. Let’s go before I change my mind and kill this guy,” he tells Scott.

“Hey! Scott abandoned you just as much as I did!”

“Yeah, but he was less of a dick about it,” Jackson says, shoving Stiles out of the way to climb into the rowboat first.

“Yeah, uh, speaking of dicks,” Scott says. “We’re gonna have to find you some clothes.”

“I’ve got this, I’m fine,” Jackson says, tugging at his red tunic.

“Yeah, and it’s great, and I’m really glad it’s working for you,” Scott says quickly. He pushes the rowboat into the water. “But, uh, it doesn’t actually cover anything below your waist.”

Jackson’s brows crease in confusion before he looks down at himself. “Oh.”

“Try not to get a splinter in your ass,” Stiles quips. Jackson smacks the back of his head with his oar. “ _Ow._ Ow, okay, I deserved that, I’ll admit it.”

 

They watch with bated breath as Jackson strings Hale’s legendary bow, notches a red-tipped arrow, and lets it fly.

It soars clean over Matt’s shoulder.

“Amazing,” Stiles says, staring at Jackson. “Just amazing.”

Jackson glares. “Shut up,” he says. “It’s been a while since I’ve had actual hands instead of claws, okay.” He draws a second arrow, aims, and shoots. Matt screams in pain as it pierces his hand, forcing him to drop his own bow. Jackson grins, watching Matt’s stumbling figure carefully, and sends a third arrow neatly through his eye.

He turns back to Scott and Stiles, who stare at him with their mouths hanging open. “You were saying?”

“You just killed _Matt_ ,” Stiles says.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Jackson says. “That guy killed Allison. He ran away from a duel with Ethan. He’s the reason this entire war started.”

“No, no, it’s definitely a good thing that he’s dead,” Stiles says. “I just – didn’t think you had it in you.”

Jackson rolls his eyes and tugs his hood further down before donning his helmet. “Well, apparently, _none_ of you had it in you for the past decade,” he says. He slings the bow onto his back and picks up his spear. “Now, let’s end this damn war.”

They stare after him as he rallies their soldiers, sleeved arms flashing as he leads them in a fresh onslaught against the Trojans. “You know,” Stiles says, “I think red’s actually a pretty good look on him.”

 

Wails pour from the city as Troy mourns their fallen prince. Ethan’s head rises automatically, swiveling towards the city for the voice they all expect to hear.

It never comes. Laments from men and women alike echo from the palace, mingling together into unintelligible cries, but the clear, sweet strains from before are noticeably absent. Ethan lowers his head slowly, brows drawn tight in confusion. He glances at Scott briefly before walking away with a shake of his head.

Stiles nudges his shoulder, sitting down next to him with a bowl of food. “So what’s up with that? You think Danny lost his voice or something?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Scott says.

“Maybe he’s dead, too,” Jackson says. “Not like we’d know. They wouldn’t mourn him, not after everything he’s done to them.”

“Hey, they had a chance to give him back,” Stiles says. “Like, ten years ago. They brought all this on themselves, okay. It’s Rhys’ fault his sons are dead.”

Jackson shrugs carelessly. “Just saying. We don’t know what’s going on behind those walls.”

“Well, that’s about to change,” Scott says. “I’m going in there.”

“You and what army?” Stiles scoffs. “Scott, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but not even Allison could get past those gates.”

“I’m not bringing an army,” Scott says. “I’m going in by myself.”

“Can I have Allison’s armor when you die?” Jackson asks. Stiles punches his arm. “What? He’s not gonna make it back.”

“We need to steal their Palladium to end the war,” Scott says. “So I’m going to find out how to get to it.”

“Again with the prophetic shepherd,” Stiles mutters. “Well, at least wait to steal it until I can go with you, okay?”

“Can I have _your_ armor when you die?” Jackson asks. Stiles punches him again.

 

* * *

 

It feels odd to not be weighed down by his armor, to leave his sword and spear in his tent as he wanders near Troy’s gates. But there’s something familiar about covering his face in dirt and grime, about pulling his hood over his head and masking his gait as he follows the crowd past Troy’s gates. He keeps the daggers – Allison’s daggers, they’ll always be Allison’s daggers – tucked close to his body, hidden well by his mussed clothing. It’s a little comforting to carry them into a foreign city just like he’d done all those years ago.

It’s less comforting to remember how they’d passed out of his hands and right back into them again. Scott shakes the memory away and hunches lower, dragging his leg and staying close to the walls with the other beggars.

“…and the sunsets, scattered across the sea like entire worlds between each wave, you always made them sound so _magical_ …” Scott’s head jerks up. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. It’s impossible, it’s impossible that he’d be in Troy, but the voice floats into his ear, clear as a bell, and he knows it isn’t all in is head, he knows it’s Derek. He looks around with wide eyes, and remembers himself too late as his hood falls back.

A hand clamps around it and tugs it down, casting his face back into shadow. “You always were so desperate when it came to him,” Derek says, and then Danny ducks into view. “I grew up with him,” he continues in his cousin’s voice. “You think I don’t know his voice even better than you do?”

Scott stares up at him, heart pounding. “You gonna throw me to your precious Trojans, or what?”

Danny’s eyes narrow, and then he wraps an arm around his middle, leaning Scott’s weight against him. “Come walk with me, grandpa,” he says, face smoothing into a benign smile. “We’ll pray to Athena together.”

“I didn’t know you were so good at mimicry,” Scott says as he stumbles along the path. “If I hadn’t seen you, I’d have thought you were him.”

“I’m good at plenty of things,” Danny says shortly. “Not that it ever mattered, but I _am_ more than just a pretty face.”

“The prettiest face in the entire world.”

Danny’s lip curls. “Yeah. And look at all the good that did.” He glances down at Scott. “You better be paying attention, because I’m not taking you back through here again.”

“I’m a fast learner,” Scott says dryly. “Not like I trust you, anyway. We’re not really going to pray to Athena, are we?” Danny shoves him forward, and he looks up to find himself staring at the Palladium. “…Oh.”

“I’m not leading you into a trap,” Danny says, crossing his arms. “Who could I even plan a trap with? They’re all dead.”

“Yeah, about that,” Scott says. He glances around the completely empty courtyard. “You didn’t seem too sad about Matt. Or were you just, like, really quiet with your wailing?”

“You’ve been listening for me?” Danny asks, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

“Well, I was pretty confused when you practically screamed your vocal cords out over _Parrish_ ,” Scott says. “I mean, he’s not the guy you married.”

“He was the only one who was kind to me,” Danny says. “He was the closest thing I had to a friend here. Of course I was upset when he died.”

“But not when your husband did.”

Danny stiffens. “You haven’t held any Spartan funerals,” he says quickly. “I-”

Scott smirks as he watches Danny’s mouth snap shut. He’d meant Matt, actually, hadn’t realized Danny even cared for Ethan anymore. “You’ve been watching our burials?”

Danny doesn’t rise to his bait. He just drops his head, worrying his lip between his teeth. “Is he still alive,” he says, tone too exhausted to curve into a true question. His eyes flick up to meet Scott’s. “Please.”

Scott stares at him blankly, letting Danny squirm under his gaze, before he nods slowly. Danny’s breath leaves him in a rush, and he drops heavily onto the stone steps. Scott sits down next to him. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t want him to _die_ ,” Danny says. “I still…” He sighs. “I never wanted him to start a war for me.”

“What did you want him to do?” Scott asks.

“I don’t know,” Danny says. He shakes his head. “What I want doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“Of course it does.”

Danny glares at him. “Stop it. I’m not my cousin, okay, you don’t get to treat me like that.”

Scott leans back, brows furrowed in confusion. “Like _what?_ ”

“Like I actually matter!” Danny spits. “I’m not a person; I’m a prize. I get that, I understand that, and I accepted that for years and then _you_ came along and ruined everything!”

His mouth falls open. “Me?” he asks. “What, because I married-”

“It’s not that you married him,” Danny interrupts. “It’s…it’s the way you looked at him.”

“The way I _looked_ at him?”

“Like he was all that matters. Like he was…like just him was enough for you. Nothing else about him, not what he was or what he had, but just him, because he was him.” Danny looks down, twisting his hands together. “I never expected that for myself. It never even crossed my mind that…and then you just threw it all in my face, and suddenly it was everything I ever wanted and nothing I could ever have and I hated you for doing that to me. I had everything; I had a powerful husband and a good king for my city, but then Derek told me about you and I…I wanted that. I wanted someone to love me the way he loves you.”

“The way I love him.”

“Same thing,” Danny says, shaking his head dismissively. “Ethan married me for my beauty and to rule Sparta, and I married him for his wealth and power and mostly because my father told me to. And that would’ve been fine. But I – I just wanted…”

“You wanted someone to see you as a person instead of an object,” Scott says. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I’m the reason thousands of people are dead,” Danny says flatly. “There’s plenty wrong with that. I should’ve known better.”

“You couldn’t have known-”

“My father is Zeus,” Danny says. “King of the gods. When you’re the child of a god, it’s never just about you. I should’ve known better.” He laughs bitterly. “I should’ve known Matt only wanted me because the gods told him I was worth something. He wouldn’t even fight for me when it came down to it. He was so weak without Aphrodite there to help him.”

Scott shifts next to him. “Did you mourn him? When he died?”

“A prize can’t mourn its owner,” Danny says. “And that’s all I ever was in the end: a prize for others to fight over. Ethan only came here because Matt took something that was his.”

“No, that’s not why,” Scott says. “Ethan came here because Matt took someone who was _precious_ to him. There’s a difference.”

Danny’s jaw clenches. “Was.”

“And still is,” Scott says. “He told me himself.”

Danny blinks rapidly at the ground. He looks up at Scott, eyes bright. “Then why didn’t he ever tell _me?_ ”

Scott watches him for a long moment. “Sorry,” Danny says, shaking his head. “That’s not…” He sighs. “I used to think – when we were younger, when he lived in Sparta, he was the only one who ever treated me like just another kid. I mean, that was _because_ he thought I was just another kid, but.” He shrugs. “It was nice. He wasn’t afraid to fight me, and he actually wanted to learn from me, and he just liked me for being me. He even-” Danny laughs. “When it was time for him and Aiden to retake Mycenae, he even found me before he left and told me he was going to come back one day and kick my ass. In a wrestling match, I mean,” he adds quickly. “Because he never managed to beat me.”

“Derek always said you were the best,” Scott says.

“I’m okay,” Danny says with a shrug. “Well, I’m probably a lot worse, now. I didn’t have anyone to practice with after Derek left.”

“Not even Ethan?”

“I looked different when we were younger,” Danny says. “Hadn’t grown into this face, yet. Ethan didn’t even know who I was, back then. He probably never realized I was that kid from Sparta, if he even remembered that kid in the first place.”

Scott stares, gaping wordlessly, then collapses in laughter. “Sorry,” he gasps, flapping a hand uselessly. “It’s just – Danny, Ethan told me the _exact_ same story when I talked to him. He thought you didn’t remember, either.” He catches his breath, looking up at Danny’s confused face. “Why didn’t you guys ever talk about this?”

“I don’t know,” Danny says, face still scrunched in confusion. “I didn’t think it mattered.” He shakes his head. “So why’d you come here? Trying to find a way in? You’ll never be able to get even a fraction of the army in.”

“I know,” Scott says, going along with Danny’s too-casual change of subject. “I’m still working on that one. But, actually, I’m here to steal this.” He jerks his thumb at the statue behind them.

“The Palladium?” Danny asks in surprise. “Cast down from Olympus to answer our founder’s prayers, a beacon of the city’s safety and well-being?” He shrugs. “Sure, why not. Rhys’ll panic when he finds out it’s gone. You won’t be able to carry it out on your own, though.”

“Yeah, I was gonna go back and get someone else once I knew the way,” Scott says. “And now I do, thanks to you.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m so helpful like that.”

Scott grabs his hand. “You are, Danny. I probably would’ve gotten caught if you hadn’t found me first.”

“Stop pandering to me,” Danny says. He stands, brushing his robes off. “And fix your posture. I have to take you back to the gates.” Scott nods, leaning onto his arm. “Come back after the sun goes down. I’ll let you in.”

“Won’t people be expecting you at Matt’s funeral?” Scott asks. Danny shakes his head. “Really?”

“The only reason they haven’t killed me yet is because I’m not nearly as valuable a bargaining chip as a corpse,” Danny says. He hesitates. “When you see my co – your husband again, tell him I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take you away from him for so long.”

“Tell him yourself,” Scott says. “He just wants you to be happy, you know.”

“I’m not going to see him again.” Danny shakes his head. “No matter how this war ends, I’m going to die. I’d just rather it be at Ethan’s hand.”

Scott doesn’t try to deny it. If they lose, the Trojans definitely won’t forgive Danny. If they win…Scott still doesn’t really know what Ethan wants from him. Instead, he asks, “Because you think he deserves it the most out of everyone?”

“No,” Danny says. “I mean, you’re right, he does.” He stops in front of the gates. “But I just…I want him to be the last thing I see.” He shrugs. “I started this whole thing by being selfish, might as well end it the same way, right?”

Scott looks back at his sad, resigned smile. “I’ll be back tonight,” he says instead of answering, and slips away through the gates.

 

“You didn’t tell me we were going to run into _Danny!_ ” Stiles hisses at Scott.

Scott sighs. “Do we really have to talk about this right now?”

“Yes, we are going to talk about this right now!” Stiles whispers. “What the hell was he doing there?”

“I’m still right here,” Danny mutters. He rolls his eyes as Stiles shoves a finger in his face.

“I’m not talking to you,” Stiles says firmly. “As far as I’m concerned, you don’t exist.”

“Stiles,” Scott says. “He let us in here. He’s on our side.”

“Yeah, I can really tell that by how he started a _decade-long war_ ,” Stiles snaps. He tugs inefficiently at the Palladium. “How come – I think it’s stuck.” Danny sighs and plucks it off its pedestal, handing it over to him. Stiles blinks down at it, then narrows his eyes at Danny. “I’m not gonna thank you.”

“Wasn’t expecting it,” Danny says. “You should get going before anyone notices something’s missing.”

“I don’t have to listen to you,” Stiles says with a sniff. He turns to Scott. “But we should get going before anyone notices something’s missing.” Danny rolls his eyes.

Scott nods. “Thank you,” he says to Danny.

“Don’t mention it,” Danny says. “Really. Don’t.” Scott nods and turns away, leading Stiles back through the alleyways to the city walls.

“Seriously, though,” Stiles says when they’re safely outside the walls and on their way back to the camp. “What the hell was he doing there?”

“I ran into him earlier,” Scott says. “Well, actually, he found me. He’s really not on Troy’s side anymore. They want him dead, you know.”

“I want him dead, too,” Stiles says. “We’ve been stuck here for a decade because of him. You know how many people are dead because of him? _Allison_ -”

“Died because the gods interfered,” Scott interrupts. “That wasn’t Danny’s fault. And the gods interfered with his life, too.”

Stiles stops, gaping at Scott. “Are you on his _side?_ ”

“I’m just acknowledging that this isn’t as much his fault as we like to think it is,” Scott says. “A lot of it is still his fault, but it’s not _entirely_ his fault.”

Stiles shakes his head and starts walking again. “You’re a nicer guy than most of us, then, because I _really_ want to Ethan to kill him.” He hefts the Palladium on his shoulder. “So, what do we do with this, now?”

“I don’t know,” Scott says, shrugging. “All that mattered was we took it out of Troy.”

“Hm.” Stiles holds it out in front of him, tilting his head. “Can I keep it?”

“If Athena’s okay with that, sure, I don’t see why not.”

Stiles looks up at the moonless sky. “Okay, Athena. If you’re okay with me keeping this statue created in your image, _don’t_ smite me.” A breeze brushes across their faces, and Stiles grins. “Awesome. So, now what? What did the prophet say about, y’know, actually destroying Troy?”

“That I’d have to figure that out myself,” Scott says. “You got any ideas?”

“Um…” Stiles snaps his fingers. “Hey! We could steal Danny and use him for some sort of trade with the Trojans!”

Scott shakes his head. “They’re not gonna want Danny back.”

“Yeah, they totally will. For execution rights.”

“Stiles, we’re not stealing Danny.”

Stiles sighs gustily. “Fine.”

He helps Stiles move the Palladium into his tent, then wanders down to the shore alone. He grew up next to the sea; it’s a familiar comfort to him, something he can count on even when nothing else is certain. He can count on the rise and fall of the tide, the rhythmic laps of the waves, the unearthly creature rising high from its depths –

Scott jumps, hurling a dagger at the creature’s middle before he even fully stands. Before he can shout a warning, the creature rushes forward and presses a clammy hand to his mouth. “Calm down, it’s just me,” Isaac says. He slaps the dagger down into his hand. “You scared the hell out of me with that thing. Jesus.”

“You scared the hell out of _me_ ,” Scott says, tucking the dagger away. “And who’s Jesus?”

Isaac blinks. “Too soon?”

Scott splutters as Isaac shakes his head and sprays him with seawater. “What’re you even doing here?”

“No one’s ever happy to see me,” Isaac says mournfully, sitting down completely dry next to him. “They see my shears and it’s all, oh no, who’s gonna die, go away, we don’t like you.”

“I like you,” Scott says. “And I _am_ happy to see you. It’s just…I saw you and Erica already. I thought if one of you was going to visit me again, it’d be Boyd.”

“We don’t take turns visiting you, Scott,” Isaac says. “Well, okay, we kind of do. But Boyd’s not gonna leave Ithaca. He’s pretty firm about staying with Liam.” He smiles fondly. “He really loves that kid.”

Scott’s heart clenches. “How is he?”

“Getting bigger and stronger every day,” Isaac says. “He’s inherited your wood-carving skills. Actually, he’s better than you, because _he_ never nailed his own thumb to plank.”

“I was only-” Scott begins, then stops. “Actually, I was his age when I did that. Ten years old.” He swallows around a dry throat, trying not to think of how much of his son’s life he missed.

“Like I said, he’s already better than you,” Isaac says. “He’s why I’m here, actually. He wanted to make something for his Papa, and for some reason, Boyd told him that if he threw it into the sea, it would get to his Papa. And then he made me go swimming after it and bring it all the way here to make sure that you did, in fact, get it.” He pulls a wooden container out of his pocket and hands it over with a huff. “Like I said, Boyd _really_ loves that kid.”

Scott carefully lifts the lid. “There’s a ton of mountain ash inside.”

“Yeah, to keep it safe,” Isaac says. “Besides, mountain ash is kind of your specialty, isn’t it?”

“It still burns me just like everyone else,” Scott says, but reaches in anyway. His fingers sting, but he forgets the pain entirely when he pulls out a tiny replica of the wooden rocking horse he’d carved for Liam, all those years ago. “…Liam made this? For me?”

“Yeah,” Isaac says. “Boyd’s been teaching him Troy’s history – well, he started out teaching him the entire world’s history, but as soon as they got to Troy, Liam insisted on learning literally everything because Papa’s in Troy and he wants to know everything about Papa.” He rolls his eyes, smiling in amusement. “They’ve been on Troy for the past three months. When I get back, they’ll probably still be on Troy. But, anyway, since horses are sacred to Trojans, he decided to make one for you so it’d bring you luck. He’d never carved a horse before, though, so he modeled it after that toy horse you made him.”

“He still has it?”

“Of course he does,” Isaac says. “He’s too big for it, now, but it’s the last thing his Papa ever made for him. He keeps it in his room, keeps it clean and polished, doesn’t let anyone else touch it.” He threads a string through the top of the container and hangs it around Scott’s head. “Erica helped Derek weave that. It won’t break, no matter what.”

Scott feels the knotted bumps all along the thread with a laugh. “Yeah, I can tell Derek made this.” He swallows. “Can you…”

“You know I can’t,” Isaac says, shaking his head.

He nods. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for missing your family,” Isaac says. “It means they’re important to you. That matters.” He stands, nods at the toy horse in Scott’s hand. “Make sure you seal that up again, okay? I swam all the way across the sea to get that to you; it better be in perfect condition when you bring it back to your son.”

“I will.”

Isaac smiles and pets the horse’s head. “Maybe it’ll bring you luck, just like Liam hoped.” He turns and dives into the sea, cutting through the dark waves and out of sight with inhuman speed.

Scott carefully nestles the toy horse back in the mountain ash and reseals the container, tucking it under his tunic. Stiles wanders out to him when the sun rises, shoving a bowl of food into his hands. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Got an idea,” Scott says.

“Really?” Stiles asks eagerly. “What is it?”

He feels for the small container under his tunic. “We’re going to give the Trojans a giant wooden horse. And after they bring it into the walls and celebrate their victory, we’re going to climb out of it and destroy the city.”

Stiles blinks. “A giant wooden horse,” he says.

Scott nods. “It’s sacred to them. They’ll accept it as a gift.”

“A _giant wooden horse_ ,” Stiles repeats. He stares at Scott. “It’s finally happened. Scott, you’ve completely lost your mind.”

 

“Scott, you’ve completely lost your mind,” Jackson says. “In fact, we have _all_ completely lost our minds.”

“Jackson, shut up,” Ethan says.

“We’re sitting inside a giant wooden horse, voluntarily wheeling ourselves into Troy to be a total sitting duck. A giant wooden sitting duck in the shape of a horse. We’re crazy,” Jackson says. “And whose idea was it for _Stiles_ to be the one to talk to the Trojans? He’s a terrible liar!”

“You’re a worse liar,” Ethan says.

“I’m a _great_ liar.”

Ethan rolls his eyes. “Jackson, go sit up in the mouth and keep watch.”

“You just want me to stop talking.”

“I _want_ you to use your keen archer’s eyes to keep watch for us when we’re moved into the city,” Ethan says. “If the Trojans catch on, we’re counting on you to warn us.”

Scott smiles at him as Jackson scrambles up into the horse’s mouth. “That was nicely done.”

“I’m not my brother, but I _do_ know a few things about command,” Ethan says. “I was a king for a while, after all.”

“You’re still a king now.”

“Danny’s husband is king of Sparta,” Ethan says. “And he married Matt.”

“But Matt’s dead now.”

“And maybe he’ll want to marry someone else.”

Scott frowns. “You’d let him?”

“Look at what happened when I tried to stop him the first time,” Ethan says, gesturing around them. “All of this, just so I could still be king? It’s not worth it. I’m done.”

The horse lurches forward, and the soldiers quiet as they hear the gates creak open. Scott leans closer. “What are you going to do when you see him?” he whispers.

Ethan looks at him, face lined with exhaustion. “I’m going to kill him,” he says. “After everything that’s happened, I have to.”

Scott loses track of time, sitting silently in the dark. They can hear muffled arguments outside, and Jackson whispers down what little information he can get, but it feels like an eternity of quiet misery before the door opens from the outside. “It worked!” Stiles whispers, grinning around a split lip and black eye. “You’re a genius, Scott.”

Scott drops to the ground, squinting around the dark city as the other soldiers climb out behind him. The bright flame of a torch from high along the palace walls catches his eye. “Did you light that?” he asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “No, that was Danny. Told me he’d light the signal for the ships while I got you guys to open the gate.” The corner of his mouth quirks. “Y’know, he’s really not all that bad. I kind of feel bad for wanting him to die.”

Ethan pulls the gates open, and the rest of their army pours through. The drag of steel rings through the silent city as their soldiers draw their swords. “Well, it’s too late for that, now,” Scott says, and then the city erupts into screams of terror.

He shouldn’t be surprised by how quickly it descends into carnage, but the sight of mutilated corpses as rivers of blood flow through the streets makes his stomach turn. He stops in the courtyard where the Palladium once stood, staring at Rhys’ crumpled body pinned through with Aiden’s spear.

It’s over, beyond a shadow of a doubt. The city may still be standing, but it’s more blood and flames than anything, now. It’s finally over. They’ve won.

It doesn’t feel like a victory.

Stiles bumps into him, swaying on his feet. “It’s over, man,” he says, and Scott tries not to notice how manic his laughter sounds. “It’s finally-” He wipes blood from his face with a shaking hand, knees giving out as he drops to the ground like a puppet. Scott sits next to him, putting his sword away. There isn’t anyone left to attack them, anyway. “I don’t like this anymore, Scott,” Stiles says. “I’m tired of watching people die.”

Scott watches Ethan search the far end of the courtyard, flames flickering in his sword as he squints through the burning rubble. “Where is he?” he mutters, pacing the empty courtyard. “I need to-”

_“Ethan!”_

Ethan’s head snaps up as Danny walks steadily across the courtyard, staring straight into his eyes. Scott watches his hand tighten on his sword, muscles tensing so hard that his arm shakes, and then Danny stops in front of him, lowering slowly to his knees. “Do it.”

Ethan lifts his sword unsteadily, the cold metal brushing over Danny’s tunic as he levels it at his neck. Danny rips his tunic open, baring his skin to the waist and holding his chin high. “Do it, Ethan.” Ethan raises his sword, jaw clenched so hard that Scott can all but hear his teeth rattle, and Danny smiles faintly as his eyes slide shut.

The sword clatters to the ground. Danny opens his eyes, confused, and then Ethan crashes to his knees in front of him, gripping his face tight as he bows his head. Danny reaches up hesitantly, trembling fingers curling around his wrists, and pulls Ethan in close.

Stiles blinks at Scott. “What just happened?” he asks. “Did he just – are they…” He shakes his head. “I don’t even know what’s going on right now.”

“When you really love someone, you’ll do anything to be with them again,” Scott says. He looks away from the pair, shrugging at Stiles. “Love doesn’t make sense, sometimes.”

“More like never,” Stiles says. He shakes his head. “I don’t get it, but – _Brett!_ ” He leaps to his feet, running after the Trojan prince.

Scott hurries after him. Brett doesn’t wear any armor, like most of the Trojans caught unaware, and he’s completely unarmed. In fact, the only thing he carries is a little girl on his back. Stiles tosses his sword at Brett’s feet. “Pick it up. This duel is long overdue.”

Brett kicks the sword away, slowly lowering the little girl to the ground and stepping in front of her. “I’m not going to fight you, Stiles,” he says. “Just – please, let her go. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Yeah, neither did Aiden’s daughter, and we saw what happened to her,” Stiles says. He hefts his spear. “Now pick up your weapon and fight.”

Brett shakes his head. “I’m done fighting,” he says. “My family’s dead. She’s all I have left. You can kill me; just let her go.” He stares into Stiles’ eyes, hopelessly beseeching. “Please.”

Stiles stares at him for a long moment, then turns away with a huff. “Go.”

Brett blinks in confusion. “What?”

“Go,” Stiles repeats. “Just get out of here before you get the both of you killed.”

“Are you-”

“Brett, if you are still here in the next ten seconds, I swear I will change my mind and kill you both,” Stiles snaps. Brett picks up the little girl and runs. Scott watches him duck into a hidden passageway out of the city, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Stiles picks up his sword, sheathing it slowly. “Enough’s enough,” he tells Scott. “I just want this to be over.”

Scott claps him on the shoulder, watching Ethan and Danny lean on each other as they make their way out of the burning city. He nods. “It’s time for us to go home.”


	6. Part VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Full cast list.](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com/post/97926720096/whos-who-in-i-will-wait-aka-my-scerek)

Liam tears into the house. “Dad! There’s an old bald guy outside!”

“He means Deaton,” Boyd says as he follows Liam at a more sedate pace.

“Deaton’s in Troy, Boyd,” Derek says, rolling his eyes at Isaac.

“Yeah, he _was_ , and now he’s back.”

Derek freezes for a split second, then drops everything as he dashes outside. (Isaac squawks and dives for the knife before it gouges the floor.) Sure enough, Deaton strolls leisurely up to the house while Braeden helps his sister lead the horses away. “You sure are a sight for sore eyes, Derek.”

His beard has flecks of gray and white, now, and the lines at the corners of his eyes are a little more pronounced, but other than that, he looks largely unchanged. Derek steps forward to embrace him. “You’re back from the war? Come inside, Isaac just made lunch.”

Deaton follows him inside, sitting down in the chair Derek pulls out with a sigh. “Finally back, for good. The war’s over. We won,” he adds unnecessarily. “From what I can tell, I’m the first one who made it home.”

“Oh,” Derek says, and tries not to sound too disappointed. “Is – um.”

“Scott was preparing to set sail when I left,” Deaton says. “I was one of the first to leave, along with Ethan and your cousin.”

“Danny’s back in Sparta?”

“Well, he’s on his way back,” Deaton says. “Like I said, so far, I seem to be the only one back.” He leans forward. “That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about, actually.”

Derek sets a bowl in front of Deaton, handing Morrell another with a nod as she walks in. “What do you mean?”

“The war ended with the complete destruction of Troy,” Deaton says. “No one was spared. The city was looted, burned, and reduced to rubble.” He pauses. “The gods became involved at the end of the war. They were watching us closely. And I’m sure they weren’t happy with the desecration of their temples.”

“We think the gods will punish the Achaeans for their actions during the war,” Morrell says. “We guarded the ships while the others sacked and looted the city, which is why we made it home so quickly when no one else has.”

Derek sits back. “And you think Scott will be one of the ones punished by the gods.”

“He didn’t loot the city, from what I heard,” Deaton says. “He didn’t take any spoils of war with him. But he came up with the plan that destroyed the city. The gods may fault him for that.”

“But that isn’t-”

“Nothing is fair when it comes to the gods,” Morrell says. “We’re at the mercy of their whims.”

“I believe the gods will let him live,” Deaton says. “But he will probably face many difficulties on his way back to you. You should be prepared for that.”

“For what?” Derek asks. “More waiting? I’ve waited an entire decade; what’s a few more years at this point?” He shakes his head, and wishes his laugh didn’t sound so frantic. “All that matters is that he comes back. I’ll wait the rest of my life for him if I have to.”

“And your son?” Deaton asks. “You’ll let him grow up fatherless if it comes to that?”

Derek stiffens. “He has me,” he says, sitting up straight in his chair. “He has his grandmother. He has an entire household taking care of him. If you’re trying to tell me to remarry just so he has some pretender for a king-”

“I’m not trying to say that,” Deaton says, holding out a placating hand. “I believe that Scott will make it home, and I’m glad that you do, too. But not everyone will see it that way. You may be pressured to remarry, for the sake of the kingdom and the protection of your heir.”

“I can protect both of us just fine,” Derek says shortly. “That won’t be a problem. I know Scott will come home.” He hears a scratching noise behind him, and turns to see Liam quickly pick up a puppy and duck behind the corner. He softens, gesturing for his son to join them. “Come here, Liam. There’s some people I want you to meet.”

Liam shuffles forward, Asphodelus clutched tight in his arms. “Pleasure to meet you, sir and ma’am,” he says, dipping his head politely.

Derek holds out his arm, and Liam tucks in close to him. “Liam, this is Deaton and his sister Morrell, from Pylos. You remember Pylos from your studies?”

Liam nods promptly. “Ruled by Deaton on the western coast,” he recites dutifully. “The soil is a distinctive red, and grows herbs that are important in medicine.” He toes the ground sheepishly. “I forgot what they’re called.”

“Squills,” Deaton says with a smile. “You’re very bright, just like your parents. I can tell that you’re Scott’s son.” He leans in conspiratorially. “You know, I got to know him pretty well during the war.”

“You know Papa?” Liam asks, eyes widening. He climbs onto a chair and scoots it closer to Deaton, leaning forward eagerly with Asphodelus sprawled in his lap. “Do you have any stories about him from Troy?”

Deaton leans in, resting his elbows on the table. “Actually, I met him before we even left…”

Morrell sits back, sipping the wine that Derek pours for her. “They’ll be at it for a while,” she says. “Deaton loves to talk.”

“Liam loves to hear about Scott,” Derek says. “Perfect match.”

Morrell laughs softly. She watches Liam giggle at one of Deaton’s quips. “You know, I have a nephew who’s about Liam’s age. Would’ve liked to bring him with us to visit you, but…” She trails off with a twist to her mouth.

“He hasn’t left his father’s side since he’s come home from war?” Derek guesses.

She nods. “Yeah. But I think they’d get along well. When they’re older, you should send Liam to visit us. Or maybe we’ll send him to you, instead.”

“It’d be good for him to travel with someone his own age,” Derek says. “When they’re older, though. Not until I know Liam can look after himself.”

“Of course,” Morrell says, nodding. “I’d do the same for my nephew.” She pauses, tapping her cup absently. “You know it’ll be a long time before Scott comes home.”

He doesn’t ask her how she knows. Deaton’s always been mysterious about his wisdom, and Derek would guess that his siblings would be the same, if not even more mysterious. “I know,” he says. “But I know that he’ll come home. That’s all that matters.”

Morrell glances at Boyd, collecting a sleeping Asphodelus from Liam’s lap. “You believe that strongly in fate?”

Derek shakes his head with a gentle laugh. It’s hard not to believe in fate, not when they’ve raised his family and shown him nothing but kindness. But they’re not why he knows Scott will come home. He smiles softly, looking up to meet Morrell’s inquisitive gaze. “I have faith.”

 

* * *

 

Scott isn’t really sure how he ended up in a Cyclops’ cave – no, no, that’s a lie. He knows exactly how he and his soldiers ended up here. The others hunted wild goats on the island, and Scott followed a flock of sheep into the cave, and by the time his soldiers caught up to him, so did the Cyclops.

It’s his fault that the Cyclops trapped them here, and it’s his fault that Bennett and Tucker are dead, eaten in front of them while the rest of the soldiers crowded back in terror.

He shouldn’t have wandered. He shouldn’t have followed the sheep. He should’ve just hunted the goats with the other soldiers, and then they would’ve been safely back on the ships by now instead of waiting to die in a Cyclops’ cave. This is all his fault.

Garrett sits down next to him while the other soldiers try to move the rock in front of the cave’s entrance. Scott knows it’s useless; only a Cyclops would be strong enough to move a rock that large. “What are we gonna do, Scott?”

Scott paces the back of the cave. “He puts that rock there whenever he comes and goes,” he says. “So even if we killed him when he came back – which we could – we’d be trapped in here forever. We can only get out when he…” He trails off, eyeing a crate of cheese. “…when he takes his sheep out. We can leave when the sheep do.”

“He’s not going to let us out with his sheep.”

“He will if he can’t see us leave with the sheep,” Scott says. He pulls down a tree trunk from the wall of the cave. “Help me sharpen this. We’re going to blind him when he comes back.”

“We’re going to blind a Cyclops?” Garrett says. He opens the wineskin hanging around his neck and takes a gulp. “And I thought Troy was terrifying.”

Scott grabs the skin out of his hands. “We’re gonna need this, too. Gotta knock him out first.”

Garrett swallows, then nods resolutely. “All right,” he says, pulling out his knife. “Let’s get this thing sharpened.”

 

He’s surprised by how well it works, honestly. The Cyclops loves the wine, washing it down quickly and succumbing to its effects even quicker. “I like you,” he mumbles, slumping down against the cave wall. “’m Ennis. Who’re you?”

Scott hands him Garrett’s last wineskin. “Me? I’m nobody. My companions are no one, and we’re from nowhere.” It’s true, after all. After watching the gods favor and abandon so many who were so greater than him – he’s nobody in their eyes. Even the gods’ own children are nobodies, in the end. They don’t matter. He frowns at the small cup that Ennis had poured for him. It’s making him so melancholy.

Ennis, though, squints at him in murky confusion. “Nobody? That’s a weird name,” he says. “But you tiny humans always did give yourselves weird names.” He shrugs and drains the wineskin. “I think I’ll eat you last, Nobody,” he mumbles. “You’re very entertaining.” His head falls back against the wall, and he starts to snore.

Scott waits patiently for his breath to even out, and then he and the soldiers grab the sharpened tree trunk. Ennis doesn’t stir as they heat it in the fire, or as they raise it above his one great eye. Scott nods, and they plunge it in as deep as they can.

Ennis thrashes awake with a roar. They drop the trunk and run to the back of the cave, away from his flailing limbs, and hold their breath as heavy stomps echo outside the cave. “Ennis?” a voice calls. “What’s going on?”

Ennis groans in pain, slamming a fist into the wall. “Kali, Nobody blinded me!” he yells. “Nobody hurt me!”

The voice sighs exasperatedly. “Seriously?” it mutters, before yelling back, “Well, if nobody hurt you, then stop your groaning. We’re trying to sleep.”

Scott lets out a breath as the stomps fade away. Ennis tosses his head with a roar and accidentally knocks himself out against the cave wall. “Wow,” Garrett says, whistling softly. “Cyclopes really take names literally, don’t they?”

Scott spends the rest of the night tying the soldiers to the sheep’s bellies, tucking himself underneath the ram just as dawn shines through the blocked cave entrance. Ennis stumbles towards it and rolls the rock away to let the sheep out, feeling the back of each as it passes to check for any humans riding away on them.

Scott feels a little bad for Ennis, as he pets the ram gently and talks to it like a friend. He’s probably lonely, with only his sheep to talk to and none of the other Cyclopes taking him too seriously. But then the ram follows the rest of the flock out into the meadows and Scott drops to the ground, untying the soldiers and running back to the ships as fast as they can.

The other soldiers cheer when they return, but Kara’s smile fades after scanning the survivors. “Bennett and Tucker aren’t here,” she says as they row away. “What happened to them, Scott?”

Scott swallows heavily. “I’m sorry, Kara,” he says. “They’re dead. A Cyclops ate them.” He stalks to the edge of the ship and shouts across the water. “Ennis!”

Ennis stomps into view at the edge of the island, casting his head about blindly. “Nobody?” he asks, the water carrying his voice easily. “Where are you?”

“I’m not Nobody, I’m Scott,” Scott shouts. “Scott, King of Ithaca. And those men you killed were Bennett and Tucker of Ithaca, good men and loyal subjects.” Ennis lifts a giant boulder from the cliff and hurls it at them, but it splashes far away from their ship. Scott wipes the spray of seawater from his face. “Bennett and Tucker!” he repeats. “Remember their names, and remember mine! The next time you try to hurt tiny humans like us again, remember what Scott of Ithaca did to you, Ennis!”

Garrett tugs him back from the stern as Ennis hurls another boulder and drenches them. “What the hell are you doing?” he hisses. “We already got away, you don’t have to gloat about it.”

“I’m not gloating,” Scott says. He tugs his tunic over his head and wrings out the seawater. “It’s my fault we got trapped in that cave, and it’s my fault that Bennett and Tucker died. I’m taking responsibility for my actions.”

“By yelling at a blinded Cyclops and telling him it was your fault,” Garrett says flatly.

Scott shrugs. “I’m the one who blinded him. He deserves to know that I did it.”

 

* * *

 

Unlike the Cyclopes, Jennifer Blake welcomes them when they land at her island. It probably helps that they meet her instead of immediately hunting her flock of sheep, though. Still, she offers them food and shelter while they recover from the Cyclopes, and even stirs up a west wind to send them home. “Thank you so much,” Scott says, shaking her hand fervently as the soldiers prepare the ships for departure. “We’re very grateful. _I’m_ very grateful. It’s been…it’s been a long ten years.”

Jennifer smiles. “I have something for you, actually,” she says, and hands him a small but heavy bag. “I’ve gathered other winds for you, in case you ever need them.”

Scott stares down at the bag. “I can’t accept this,” he says. “I’m just a nobody from Ithaca. I’m not worthy of this gift.”

“You’re the one who brought down Troy in the end,” Jennifer says. “You’ve earned it. Be sure not to open it before you land in Ithaca, though. I couldn’t gather the western one in here, since you’ll be using it. If you open it at sea, it’ll take you everywhere but home.”

Scott nods. “Thank you. I will.”

 

_“Ithaca!”_

The shout wakes Scott, and he stumbles to the deck to see the familiar silhouette of Ithaca’s highest mountain. “We’re home,” he says, and wonders if Derek’s sitting at its peak and watching the night sea. He grins as the dark mountain draws closer, then suddenly begins to shrink under their gaze.

Kara grips the edge as winds gust around them and blow the ships further away. “What’s going on?” she asks Scott, but he’s already darting away, searching his bags for –

Garrett and Violet stare up at him with wide, guilty eyes. “What have you done?” Scott demands.

“We thought it was gold,” Violet says. “We didn’t know – if you’d told us-”

“We were almost _home_ ,” Scott says. “We were-” He looks back to the mountain, but only open water surrounds them, now. “If gold was what you wanted, why didn’t you just-”

“Because the last time we just followed you, two of us ended up _dead!_ ” Garrett shouts. “If you’re a nobody, then what the hell does that make us? Why should we-” Kara’s fist knocks into his jaw, effectively cutting him off.

“Shut the hell up, Garrett!” she yells. “You were just being greedy. Both of you!” she adds, rounding on Violet. “You saw that we’d be home soon, and you wanted to keep some extra gold for yourself while our king slept. This is _your_ fault!” She draws her fist back for another blow, but Scott grabs her arm.

“No,” he says. “No, this is my fault. I should have told you about the bag of winds. If I had, then you would have known not to open it.” He stares out at the dark sea. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault we’re not home right now.”

“They’re still the ones who opened the bag,” Kara seethes. She glares at them before stalking away.

Violet holds out the empty bag. “We’re sorry, Scott,” she says.

Scott shakes his head. “It’s my fault.”

 

Jennifer refuses to help them when they’re blown back to her island. “If you came so close to home before you were blown away, you must have done something wrong,” she says.

Scott nods. “I didn’t tell my soldiers about the bag of winds,” he says. “They didn’t know, so they opened it before we landed-”

“No,” Jennifer interrupts, shaking her head. “No, I mean you must have angered the gods.” She tilts her head. “Where did you go before you landed here, again? The first time, I mean.”

“An island of Cyclopes,” Scott says. “We were captured by one of them. I had to injure him to escape.”

“Cyclopes,” Jennifer says. Her mouth twists. “They’re Poseidon’s children, you know.”

His stomach drops. “Poseidon?” he repeats weakly. “The-”

“King of the seas,” Jennifer says, nodding sadly. “Scott, you remember Allison, right? Daughter of the goddess Victoria, nearly invincible hero. You remember what she did in Troy when a mortal hero angered her.”

“She called on Hephaestus to forge her new armor, and she filled an entire river with Trojan bodies before killing the man who’d wronged her,” Scott says.

Jennifer nods. “And that’s just the child of a Nereid,” she says. “ _You_ angered the child of an Olympian. The Olympian who rules the very sea you need to get home, no less.” She taps her fingers together. “I notice only your ship landed at my island, this time.”

“We lost the other ones,” Scott says. “The winds – they caused a storm. We got separated, couldn’t even see anything until we landed here. Do you know if-”

“They’re gone,” Jennifer says. “You say Allison filled a river with Parrish’s soldiers? Poseidon sent yours to Styx.”

Scott’s knees give out. He wobbles, leaning heavily on the table. “They’re all dead?” he asks. “All of them? Because of me?” He shakes his head. “I’m the one who hurt Ennis, not them. I’m the one who angered Poseidon. Why did he-”

“You’re a king, Scott,” Jennifer says. “You’ve fought alongside the gods and their children at Troy. You should know by now that your choices affect more than just yourself.”

He drops his head. “What can I do?” he asks. “What can I do to keep the rest of my soldiers safe?”

“I don’t know,” Jennifer says. “You’re at the mercy of Poseidon, now.” She helps him upright. “All you can do is be their king.”

 

When Violet comes running back to the ship and tells him that the entire landing party has been turned into pigs, Scott bites back the urge to laugh.

Turned into pigs. Of course they’ve been turned into pigs. He knew he should’ve led the landing party instead of let Garrett prove himself. “Everyone stays with the ship,” he orders, strapping on his sword. “I’ll figure out what’s happened.”

He doesn’t know what to expect as he follows the pigs’ squeals further into the island. More Cyclopes? Witches? Cannibals? It’s almost a relief when he bursts through the trees and finds the pigs all walled into a pen, with only a blonde-haired woman watching them from the fence. He closes his hand around his sword’s hilt, approaching slowly. “Pardon me,” he calls out. “But could you tell me…” He trails off as the blonde head turns. “…Erica?”

Erica grins. “Scott!” she calls cheerfully, hopping off the fence and running up to hug him. “You made it!”

“You turned my soldiers into pigs,” he says, patting her back faintly.

“No, their drinks turned them into pigs,” Erica says. She crunches into a bright red apple. “Gotta be careful of the cider, here.”

Scott looks into the pen. None of them look hurt, but they all look plenty bewildered. They crowd along the fence, tripping over each other as they squeal at him. “Is there a way to change them back?”

Erica drops a barrel of apples in front of him. “An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” she chirps nonsensically. Scott shakes his head, but grabs the barrel and climbs into the pen. “It was just a little bit of fun,” she says as Scott carefully feeds an apple to each pig. “No harm, no foul. Look, I even made a bunch of food for you!” She runs to the other side of the pen and gestures at a lavish feast set up on a series of tables.

Scott raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I learned from Derek,” Erica says with a shrug. “There’s a few Spartan dishes, here, but most of them are authentic Ithacan.” She smiles encouragingly at the newly-restored soldiers behind Scott. “It’s okay, me and your king go way back.”

“You know her?” Garrett asks incredulously as he tugs his tunic back on.

“I used to change his diapers when he was a baby!” Erica calls.

Garrett’s eyes shoot up, looking from her to Scott and back again. “Wow,” he says. “How old _is_ she?”

“I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew,” Scott says with a sigh. He claps Garrett’s back. “Could you go get everyone else from the ship? We can stay here. It’s safe.”

Garrett stares. “She turned us into _pigs_.”

“I told them to drink the wine, not the cider,” Erica sniffs. “They’re the ones who didn’t listen to me.”

Carrie leans towards the nearest dish, inhaling its aroma. “It smells just like how my mom made it,” she says wistfully.

Erica smiles. “Yeah, Derek’s gotten a lot better at making Ithacan dishes,” she says softly. “He, uh – he’s had a lot of practice.”

Ten years’ worth of practice, without Scott there to teach him (or, more accurately, teach him wrong and then get run out of the kitchen by Isaac, just like when he was Liam’s age). Scott swallows, turning back to Garrett. “We’re safe here,” he says. “I promise.”

 

“So what are you doing here?” Scott asks, sitting with Erica further away from the feasting soldiers.

“What do you think?” Erica asks. “What happened the last time I visited you?”

“You sent me on a bunch of quests,” Scott says. Erica nods solemnly, and he groans. “Again?”

“Hey, you’re the one who pissed off Poseidon,” Erica says. “You gotta reap what you sow.”

Scott sighs. “Okay. So what advice do you have for me?”

“Oh, I can’t give you that,” Erica says. “The king of the sea is mad at you, the king of the gods is staying out of it, so you’ve really only got one king willing to let his subjects help you, anymore. You have to go ask a dead person.”

He stares. “A dead person,” he repeats flatly.

Erica nods, climbing to her feet. “Follow me,” she says. “There’s a reason I waited for you here instead of just washing onboard your ship.”

“I thought that was because you hated getting seaweed in your hair,” Scott says.

“Yeah, that too,” Erica calls back absently. She grabs his hand and pulls him out of a grove of trees. “Ta-da!”

Scott blinks at giant wrought iron gates that seem to lead into darkness. “Is that-”

“The gates of Hades, yeah,” Erica says. “Turns out they were on an abandoned island in the middle of the sea. Who knew?” Scott looks at her, unimpressed. “Well, of course _I_ knew. I meant other people.”

Scott steps forward, and the gates swing open. “Don’t lose sight of the gates, okay?” Erica says. “It’ll look different from the other side, but as long as you can still see the gates, you won’t be taken into the Underworld. You’ll be able to come back.” She hands him an apple. “In case you get hungry. Don’t eat anything in there, not even a tiny little pomegranate seed.”

He tucks it into his pocket. “Thanks, Erica.”

“I’ll be here when you get back.” She pats his back encouragingly. “Now, go on. After everything you’ve gone through, the kingdom of the dead can’t be _that_ scary.”

“Of course it can,” Scott says. He squares his shoulders and steps through the gates.

 

* * *

 

The suitors trickle in slowly, at first, so slowly that Derek doesn’t really notice them piling up. It feels like dozens appear overnight, taking up residence in the palace and refusing to leave until he marries one of them.

“Well, that’s because of the news from Mycenae,” Braeden says. “Their queen remarried and killed the old king when he came back from Troy.”

Derek lets go of the shorn sheep, watching her run back to Poppy and her flock. “And they think I’ll do that to Scott?”

Braeden shrugs. “They think he’s already dead.”

“He isn’t-”

“I know he isn’t, Derek,” Braeden says. “But they don’t see it that way. They just see twelve years without a king to rule next to you.”

Derek shakes his head, picking up his shears as Narcissus herds another sheep towards him. “That’s their problem. The kingdom’s been fine with just me, and it’ll be fine when Scott comes back.”

“It’s not about the good of the kingdom,” Melissa says. She finishes bundling the wool into a bag. “It’s about one of them getting to be king.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Derek says. “Liam’ll inherit the throne, not any of their children.”

“Not if he dies,” Braeden says. Derek’s hands still, and he jerks his head up to stare at her. “Liam’s still young, Derek. He learns fast, but he wouldn’t stand a chance against a fully-grown adult.”

Derek looks across the meadow, where Liam plays with the lambs while Asphodelus stands guard. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“They would,” Melissa says. “That’s politics. We can’t afford to ignore your suitors.”

“‘We?’” Derek asks.

“Of course, ‘we,’” Melissa says. “Family sticks together.” She starts filling a new bag with wool. “We just need to find a way to stall them until Scott comes home.”

Derek finishes shearing and lets the sheep go, watching Melissa gather the wool. “So they’re convinced that Scott is dead?” he says. “Well, then, I’ll have to make a burial shroud.”

“For Scott?” Braeden asks.

“You can’t bury a body that’s lost at sea,” Derek says. “No, I mean for my ailing mother-in-law.”

Melissa sits back, eyebrow raised. “I’m not _that_ old.”

“But the grief from the death of your only son has weakened you so,” Derek says with a smirk. “And since I couldn’t bury my husband, I have to do right by his mother. And since they’re such kind, understanding suitors with only the kingdom’s well-being at heart, they’ll understand.”

Melissa smiles. “Trap them in their own lies. I like it.” She presses her lips together. “Well, I don’t like pretending to mourn Scott, but I understand.”

“You’ll have Erica weave the shroud when she gets back?” Braeden asks.

“No, I’ll be weaving it myself. And first, I’ll spin it from this wool we’re gathering.”

Braeden stares. “Derek. You’re terrible at weaving.”

“It’s for my husband’s mother, a queen of Ithaca,” Derek says. “Of course I have to do it myself.”

“Erica spent an entire _week_ trying to untangle your loom, once.”

“It was six days, not seven,” Derek mutters.

“And she’s not even here to fix your work right now.”

“Yeah, she’ll probably make me undo it all and start over when she gets back,” Derek says. “And I can’t expect her to watch me the whole time, so I’ll probably have to keep undoing it when she finds a tangle I missed.”

“It could take you months to finish,” Melissa says, nodding along.

“You kidding?” Braeden says. “You’ve seen how hopeless he is. It’ll take _years_.”

Derek shrugs with a sly grin. “I always was a slow learner.”

 

* * *

 

The gates to the Underworld swing shut behind him, closing themselves with a dry click. When Scott looks back, the trees behind them are gone, replaced with dark shadows and the smoldering remains of a burned chariot.

“Scott?”

He swallows heavily, resting a hand on the cold iron as he turns to face the voice. “Allison.”

She smiles at him, her face unlined by the rage and weariness he’d seen so much, at the end. “It’s good to see you, Scott. Thank you for burying me with Lydia.”

“I promised I would,” Scott says. He takes a deep breath. “Allison, I’m-”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” she says, shaking her head gently. “I made my own choices. And,” she smiles, turning as another figure approaches. “Lydia and I are together again. Forever.”

“She’s getting sappy on you again, isn’t she?” Lydia says, even as she leans up on her toes to kiss Allison’s nose. Allison giggles, happy and bright and nothing like the cold warrior Scott had seen in Troy. “Don’t even pretend, Lydia,” she says. “You love it.”

“I love _you_ ,” Lydia says, and Allison beams. She turns to Scott, tucking herself under Allison’s arm. “So, I heard you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a pickle.”

Scott gestures at the Underworld around them. “Yeah, you know, just a little one.”

“Poseidon always was so stubborn when it came to grudges,” Allison says. Lydia scoffs. “What? It’s true! You know how many times my mom complained about him?”

“Oh, I believe you,” Lydia says. “It’s just hilarious that _you_ of all people are calling someone stubborn about grudges. You _still_ won’t talk to Aiden.”

“Wait, what?” Scott asks. “Aiden’s here? He’s-”

“Survived the war just to die at home,” Allison says, with just a shade of relish. “His wife remarried and killed him when he got back.”

“Oh.” He swallows, looking down at the floor. “That’s…”

“Not a huge surprise, really,” Allison says. “All that bravado, and he died in disgrace instead of as a war hero. And I’ll talk to him when _he_ comes to me,” she adds to Lydia. “But I’m not going to approach him.”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “They probably still won’t have talked by the time _you_ come back here,” she says to Scott. “Which won’t be for a while, if you play your cards right.”

“That’s…good,” Scott says slowly. “So what do I need to do?”

“Well, you can’t sail straight for Ithaca,” Lydia says. “Poseidon’ll wreck your ship and leave you to drown if you do that. I think…” She taps her chin. “The Sirens, Allison? That’d be a better detour?”

Allison nods. “And the strait of Charybdis and Scylla. If you suffer through those, Scott, I think that’ll appease Poseidon. Follow the winds when you leave here; the Sirens will draw you right in.”

“Make sure your crew plug their ears with beeswax,” Lydia adds, “And on the island after the strait, don’t kill any of the cattle there. They belong to Apollo, and you don’t want him coming after you.” She rolls her eyes. “Trust me.”

“And between Charybdis and Scylla, stay close to Scylla.”

“Scylla?” Scott says. “But it has six heads.”

“And Charybdis is a giant whirlpool,” Allison says. “Scylla will probably eat some of you. But if you fall into Charybdis, every single one of you will drown.”

“There has to be-”

“There isn’t,” she interrupts. “Scott, I know you think you can always find a way, but sometimes you can’t.” She shakes her head. “Sometimes the impossible is just impossible, even for you.”

Scott shakes his head absently. He’ll figure something out. So many already died because of him, he can’t ask more to-

“Don’t test your luck, Scott,” Lydia says. “I can practically hear you thinking. Don’t do it.”

“I’m their king,” he says. “I’m supposed to protect them.”

“And you’re supposed to make the decisions that no one wants to,” Lydia says. “That’s what a good leader does.”

Scott sighs, dropping his head. “Okay,” he says. “Sirens, Scylla, and don’t eat any animals on the island.” He looks up. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“You’ve always been a good friend,” Allison says. “And what can Poseidon do to us? Send us to Hades?” Scott laughs, stepping forward to hug her, but she shrinks back. “You, uh. We can’t actually touch you, Scott.”

“Right.” He drops his arms. “Sorry. I thought-” He shakes his head. “Sorry. And thank you, really.”

“Say hi to Derek for us,” Lydia says. “When you see him again.”

“I will.” The gates fall open under his hand, and the chariot’s embers fade into the bright whirl of Erica’s hair. Allison and Lydia fade away as he looks back, until all he can see are their intertwined hands before the gates swing shut.

“Got everything you needed?” Erica asks, grabbing his hand and tugging him away from the gates.

“Yeah,” Scott says. “I – yeah.”

She frowns. “You don’t sound very happy about it.”

“If I want to get home, I have to let some of my soldiers die,” he says. “I…they trusted me, and I have to just stand back and let them die.”

“What do you think happened during that decade-long war you just fought?” Erica says. “That’s just part of it.”

He shakes his head. “My life isn’t more valuable than any of theirs.”

“That’s nice and idealistic of you, but it also isn’t true,” Erica says. She tucks her elbow through his and leads him away from the gates of the Underworld. “You’re their king, Scott. Your life _is_ more important than theirs, because you’re the one leading them.”

“I won’t be king anymore if Derek marries someone else.”

“Scott,” Erica says slowly. She sighs. “ _Scott_. You know you’re not Aiden. And even if you think you are, you know Derek would never do that to you.”

“I’d deserve it.” He shrugs. “We were so close to getting home, and it was my own fault. It’s my fault Poseidon won’t let us go home, and it’s my fault most of us are dead. I don’t-” Erica grabs a stick from the forest floor and whacks him on the head. “Ow! What was that for?”

“I didn’t think the Underworld would bum you out so much,” Erica says irritably. She tosses the stick to the ground. “You’re being ridiculous, Scott. Don’t you dare give up now. Your soldiers are counting on you-”

“The ones who aren’t already dead,” he mutters.

“-and your _husband_ is counting on you,” Erica continues. “Derek is counting on you to come home. He believes you’re going to come back to him. He’s always believed in you. Don’t you believe in him?”

“Of course I do,” Scott says. “But-”

“But nothing,” Erica says, flicking her hair into his face. “You know what, Scott? Listen to the Sirens when you pass them. Tie yourself up so you don’t sabotage your own crew, but you need to listen to them.”

“Why?”

“It’s different for everyone,” she says. “You’ll hear what you need to hear. You’ll hear whatever’s important enough to you that it’s worth dying for.” She stops walking as they reach the shore. “Now, it’s time for you to go. They’ve been restless for weeks.”

“Weeks?” Scott repeats. He gapes at Erica. “How long was I in the Underworld?”

“About a year,” Erica says. “Time runs differently there, you know.”

“I _didn’t_ know,” he says faintly. “It’s been a whole year?”

“Which is why it’s time for you to get going,” Erica says. “The ship’s all packed and ready to sail. You know how to find the Sirens, right?”

The wind picks up, blowing Erica’s hair towards the sun. “Yeah. I know how to get there.”

“Good.” She leans in and hugs him. “I’ll see you when you’re home again.”

“When,” Scott repeats, but the word echoes uncertainly in his mind.

Erica notices. She reaches up to pat his cheek firmly. _“When.”_

 

He completely blacks out when the Sirens begin to sing, and doesn’t come back to himself until they’re well past the island and the soldiers have hesitantly removed the beeswax from their ears. Scott slumps against the mast, blinking dazedly down at his rope-burned arms as Carrie unties him. “So?” she asks him with a grin. “Was it as amazing as they say?”

“I guess so,” he says hoarsely. He stretches out trembling legs as he sits. “It was…I can barely even remember it. But it was…” He shakes his still-buzzing head. “It was the best and the worst thing in the world.”

“What’d you hear?”

He drops his head back against the mast, eyes sliding shut. Their voices had been beautiful, even more breathtaking than Danny’s. All he can remember, though, is their song spilling into sweet laughter that he hadn’t heard in years but recognized in a heartbeat. All he can remember is their voices merging to call out his name in utter joy, reverberating through his skull like dark hair and eyes green as seafoam. “I heard the most beautiful voice in the entire world.”

Carrie whistles. “Even better than Danny’s?”

He smiles, remembering the sly excitement in Derek’s eyes as he’d challenged Scott to a footrace. “Infinitely.”

 

The soldiers understand when he tells them about Scylla and Charybdis, steering grimly towards the monster’s cliffs and away from the massive whirlpool. Each of Scylla’s heads swoops down and plucks away Sean, Jessica, Kara, DeMarco, Carrie, and Reed, but the rest duck their heads and row through the grisly screams.

Garrett demands to rest when they reach the island on the other side of the strait. Scott takes one look at the remaining soldiers, exhausted and shaking from watching their friends die – again – and agrees. He warns them not to hunt Apollo’s cattle, and collapses onto the sandy beach as the others leave to explore the island. He drops an arm over his eyes, blocking out the sun as best as he can, and tries to sleep through the screams still echoing in his ears.

He shouldn’t be surprised to wake to meat spitting over a fire and his soldiers crowded around several half-eaten cattle, but he is. “No,” he groans, clapping a hand over his face. “I _told_ you not to eat the cattle.”

Garrett bites into a hunk of meat viciously. “There’s nothing else but grass on this island,” he says. “We’re starving. What else were we supposed to do?”

“Those cattle belong to Apollo,” Scott says. “You don’t understand what happens when you anger a god-”

“You keep talking about gods like you’ve actually met them or something,” Garrett says. “I fought in the same war you did, okay? I don’t care how many times you or Deaton or Allison talk about them-” Scott stiffens at the last name, but Garrett continues blithely. “-they weren’t there! There were no gods in the war, and there aren’t any gods here, so stop blaming your own mistakes on them.” He swallows another mouthful. “The worst that can happen to me now is I’ll get sick from eating too much food. And I’m fine with that.”

Scott looks around the rest of the crew, busying themselves with their own food. “You agree with him?” he asks quietly. “All of you?”

“You disappeared for a year, Scott,” Violet says. “That witch woman wouldn’t tell us anything. And then you come back and tell us you were talking to ghosts?” She shakes her head. “We know this has been really difficult for you, but you’re just not making any sense anymore. Maybe the Sirens knocked the last of it out of you.”

Scott stares at her, gaping wordlessly, then turns and walks back to the ship. His stomach growls, and he realizes that he can’t remember the last time he ate. The meat smells so delicious, so tempting – but he has to trust Allison and Lydia. He has to trust that he spoke to them, and that he isn’t just losing his mind.

When the lightning bolt crackles down from clear blue skies and cuts clean through the ship as soon as they set sail, Scott can only laugh. At least he knows that he hasn’t lost his mind. Now he’s just going to lose his life.

A storm kicks up instantly, driving the sinking ship back to the strait, and Charybdis’ currents tear the ship to pieces. Scott clings to the remains of the mast as soldiers fall off the deck and into the dark water. Out of the corner of his eye, Garrett drops limply into the sea with a massive splinter pierced through his chest. Something heavy slides against him, and he turns to stare into Violet’s lifeless eyes before a wave pulls her away.

Scott gulps as the broken mast drifts closer to Charybdis. A tree grows sideways out of the cliff, extending out over the whirlpool, and he leaps for it, clawing his way onto a branch as the mast disappears beneath the swirling water. He clings to the tree, scrambling to maintain his grip with slippery hands, and then Charybdis spits back out part of the hull. Scott drops down onto it, seizing a smaller plank and rowing out of Charybdis’ pull. He collapses on the hull when the waters finally calm, glancing back at the distant cliffs with a sigh.

They’re all dead. Every single soldier that followed him from Ithaca to Troy is gone. They trusted him, and he failed them all.

He rows mechanically through the open water, barely noticing the wind tearing through his clothes or the sun burning his skin. He doesn’t notice the sun setting, or the moon rising to replace it, or the birds chirping at dawn. He’s surprised when an island looms on the horizon – or he would be, if he could still muster up the energy for emotions. He keeps rowing, the same way he has for – hours? days? – until he reaches forward with the plank and feels it cut into sand instead of water.

Scott stumbles onto the beach with wobbly legs. The sand scratches and peels at his skin, and he just barely manages to roll onto his back before it floods his mouth. Sudden pain flares through his arms, and he moans through cracked lips. He made it. He’s alive.

The world darkens, and he squints as hair brushes his face. “Are you okay?” a soft voice asks, and he discovers that he still has the strength to laugh. It swells up cracked and hideous from his lungs, splitting across his face in a painful grimace. Soft hands flutter across his face, and he tastes blood in his mouth as he wheezes. That’s got to be the funniest question he’s ever heard. Is he okay.

Is he?


	7. Part VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Full cast list.](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com/post/97926720096/whos-who-in-i-will-wait-aka-my-scerek)

“Okay, that’s it,” Isaac says, stomping into the room. “We’re all thinking it, so I’m gonna go ahead and say it.” He sits on the couch and steeples his fingers solemnly. “Which one of us is going to tell Liam that his facial hair isn’t working out quite as well as he thinks it is?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “He’s still young. It just takes some time.”

“Seventeen isn’t _that_ young. He looks like he rubbed sand on his face!”

“Isaac,” Braeden says, “I’ve never seen you with facial hair in my entire life.”

“I could grow facial hair!” Isaac says. Boyd snorts. “Shut up, Boyd. You’re bald; you can’t talk.”

Erica nudges Derek away from the loom, smirking at Isaac. “So why don’t you tell him?” she suggests. “Since you’re the one who brought it up, and all.”

“Are you kidding me? I don’t have a death wish.” He leans down next to the loom, ignoring the eye roll that Erica and Boyd send each other. “So how many tangles did Derek make, this time?”

“None, actually,” she says, looking up from the cloth. “Derek, you’re actually getting pretty good at this. You’ll probably be done in a few months.”

“Oh,” Derek says. “I – oh.”

Braeden shrugs jerkily. “It’s been years,” she says. “I mean, this was – it was never meant to last forever.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice hollow. He knows that, but – but Scott isn’t home, yet. He can’t – he just has to come up another way to stall, then. “Yeah, I just…”

A loud crack echoes through the room, followed a slow crunch and the ring of metal. They turn to watch Isaac pull his knife free from the loom, which now lies in pieces on the floor. “Oops,” he says. “My knife slipped.”

“You cut clean through the warp,” Erica says, tilting her head at the mess. “Derek’ll have to start over. Once we get a new loom, of course.”

“Scott always was the better carver,” Derek says. “I can-”

“Wait.” Braeden snaps her fingers excitedly. “You know what you do, Derek, is you should get the suitors to buy you a loom. The finest their wealth can afford. You said Danny’s suitors brought him gifts, right? They should do that for you.”

“No,” Derek says immediately. “No, that implies that I’m actually going to marry one of them, and I won’t.” He shakes his head. “Liam can make a new loom, and then I’ll start over, and when it’s done, I’ll…I’ll figure something out. But I don’t want anything from those suitors.”

“Derek,” Erica begins, but Boyd stops her with a hand on her arm. “I’ll go tell Liam,” he says, and nods for the others to follow him out of the room.

Derek drops down onto the couch, burying his head in his hands. Scott hasn’t come back yet. It’s been so long, and he hasn’t – he just needs more time, is all. Derek just needs to stretch the years a little longer, just until Liam’s old enough to take over the throne, and then – then Derek can go away, live by the sea and wait for Scott to come home.

He’d promised that he’d come back. Derek had told him to, had told Scott to do it for _him_ , and Scott had promised that he would. And Scott’s always done what Derek asked, he’s done the impossible for Derek, so he has to…he _will_ …

“It’s the doubt that gets you, in the end,” a voice says. Derek looks up to see a young woman standing in the doorway. “The uncertainty just eats and eats at you, until you don’t really know what to believe anymore.”

Derek stares as she steps quietly into the room. Dark brown waves spill over pale shoulders and down her back, and her equally dark eyes pierce under his skin. “Who are you?” he asks.

“That isn’t important,” she says. She sits next to him and pats his back with a hand that feels like cool steel. “What’s important is what you’re planning on doing next. Talk to me. We’ll figure it out.”

“Why are you…” He gives up with a shrug. “I can’t keep avoiding the suitors forever.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I can only postpone for another year or two, and then I’ll have to – either marry one of them, or reject them all and deal with their anger,” Derek says. The woman nods. “But if they band together – it’s like Danny’s suitors all over again. Except I can’t get them all to swear an oath to defend who I marry, because I’m not going to marry anyone at all.”

The woman nods again. “They’ll band together and destroy your family.”

“I can’t let them hurt Liam,” he says. “I can’t let them hurt my son. _Scott’s_ son. I have to – until he’s old enough, I can’t…” He drags a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Would you like some advice?”

He nods. “Please.”

“Stop avoiding the suitors.” He looks up, surprised. “Just interact with them enough to curb their resentment. Make them compete with each other for your attention. Be someone worth fighting for.”

“I’m not, though,” Derek says. “I’m running the kingdom well enough, but anyone with enough training can do that. I’m not – I’ve always been the one no one noticed.”

“Scott noticed you.”

He huffs a laugh. “That’s different. That’s Scott.”

“And you made him work for it,” the woman says. “So make these suitors work, too.” She squeezes his hand. “You don’t have to be Danny, Derek. But you can’t hide like you used to.”

Derek frowns. “I’ve never seen you here before,” he says. “How’d you know about-”

_“Dad!”_ Liam bursts into the room, sword drawn. He pulls Derek behind him, glaring at the woman. “Who are you and what do you want?”

She eyes the sword with amusement. “I’m just a harmless wo-”

“Don’t lie to me!” With his free hand, Liam pulls a jar out of his pocket and flings its contents at the woman. Mountain ash fans out around her, settling into a neat circle without so much as a speck landing on her clothing. “Isaac taught me about all the great heroes. He drew their faces, so I’d recognize them. And _that_ face-” he points his sword at her, “belongs to Allison.”

“Allison?” Derek repeats, gaping at the woman. “But that’s impossible. Allison-”

“Died several years ago and graciously allowed me to borrow her visage,” the woman finishes. She smiles at Liam. “Mountain ash, now that was clever of you. You’re just like your father.” She steps over the line easily, lowering his sword with the tip of your finger. “And you should know by now that this little thing is useless against me.”

“Who are you?” Derek asks.

“That still isn’t important,” she says. “I just came to offer you my advice, and now I’ll be on my way.” She sweeps the mountain ash back into its jar with a wave of her hand.

“Why?” Liam asks. “Why’d you come here at all? We’re not important enough for the gods to interfere.”

The goddess tilts her head. “You really are just like your father,” she says wonderingly. “I don’t think he ever really trusted me, either. Never let me guide his hand the way others did during the war.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“So demanding,” the goddess chides. She nods at Derek. “He gets that from you, you know. And I came here because I haven’t protected Scott as well as I should have. I thought the war was the end of it, I thought…” She laughs self-deprecatingly, looking down at her hands. “In this body’s own words, I abandoned him. And now I’m trying to make things right.”

“Then why are you here instead of with him?” Derek says.

“Because everything that matters to him is here,” she says. She rests a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “If you ever call on me for guidance, I will answer. I owe you and your father that much.” She glances at Derek. “Both of them.”

Liam nods hesitantly. “Thank you. I’m very grateful.”

“Courtesy, he’s learning,” the goddess says, grinning in amusement. She turns to Derek. “Is there anything you wanted to ask me? Something you wouldn’t be able to find out on your own?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “No.”

She tilts her head. “Are you sure? I’m a powerful god, it would be easy to-”

“No.” Derek shakes his head. “I don’t need to ask. I know he’s coming back.”

“You don’t, though. It’s been years. You can’t know for sure that he’s even alive, much less trying to get back to you.”

“I believe he is,” Derek says. “I trust him. That’s all I need.”

The goddess smiles. “My cousin backed the wrong prince of Sparta,” she says. “ _This_ is love worth fighting for.” She nods at Liam, then disappears through the doorway.

Liam sheathes his sword with shaking hands. “Okay, that was terrifying,” he says. He leans heavily on the loom, yelping when it cracks under his weight. “Did I do that?”

“No, Isaac’s knife slipped,” Derek says, waving a hand absently as he sits back down on couch. “I need you to make another one for me, actually. In the meantime, I’m going to talk to the suitors.”

“Sure,” Liam says. “But – why are you talking to them? I thought – after what you told Athena-”

“I’m not going to marry any of them,” Derek says. “But I do need to keep them from waging a war against us. You’re not old enough to rule, yet.”

“I _could_ ,” Liam says. “I’m seventeen, that’s not that young-”

“Too young to marry and continue your line,” Derek says. “And you shouldn’t have to worry about that, yet. I can handle a few suitors.”

“Dad, there’s gotta be a hundred of them.” Liam rubs his arm, frowning down at the loom. “Are you – are you just doing this because of me?”

“Liam.” He tucks an arm around his son’s shoulders. “The suitors are here because of me, not you. I’m doing this so that the kingdom doesn’t fall apart before your father gets home. That’s my responsibility as king. It’s not because of you.”

“Okay,” Liam says unhappily. “I’ll make another loom. It might take me some time.”

“Take as long as you need.” He kisses the top of his head. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

After months of the suitors squabbling amongst themselves and showing off their wealth and power, Liam presents the finished loom to Derek. “Erica tested it and made sure everything works,” he says. “So assuming you don’t tangle things, you should be able to finish in no time.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’ve gotten better,” he says. “Braeden barely even laughs at me when she watches me weave, anymore.”

Liam forces a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. “There’s, um. There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” He glances up at Derek. “I’m going to visit Deaton.”

“Oh,” Derek says. “When?”

“Today.”

“Today?” he repeats. “You’ve prepared a ship?”

“Yeah,” Liam says. “Um, actually, Athena helped me assemble a crew. They’re all sailors loyal to Papa, totally safe and god-approved,” he adds quickly. “I’m going to see what news Deaton may have heard about him, if he knows anyone else who might have information.”

“Liam,” Derek says. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I _want_ to,” he says firmly. “I never got to know Papa, and I want to. And he hasn’t come back, yet, so I’m gonna go and find him.” He lifts his chin. “I’m almost eighteen, I can take care of myself, and Deaton has nephews my age who know the other kingdoms so I won’t be completely on my own. I can do this, Dad.”

“I know you can,” Derek says, nodding. “As long as you’re doing this for yourself, and not for me or for anyone else.”

“I am,” Liam says. “I’m going to find him. I’m…” He trails off, pressing his lips together. “Dad,” he says in a small voice, “What does he look like?”

His heart clenches as Liam stares up at him, hesitant and uncertain. “Oh,” he says, pulling his son in for a hug. “Oh, well, he’s not much taller than you – you got your height from him, you know. And his skin’s darker, like your grandmother’s. He has her hair, too, but he kept it short, a lot like yours. You know the way your hair sticks straight up from the back of your head? That’s all Papa. My hair doesn’t do that. Yours is just weird.” Liam laughs, batting Derek’s hand away from his head. “And his eyes – they’re not like ours. His are brown, warm, like fresh soil ripe for planting new seeds. And he has moles,” he adds, poking Liam’s face, “here, here, and here.”

Liam leans back. “So I don’t look much like him,” he says. “Do you think…” He ducks his head. “What if he doesn’t recognize me?”

“Are you kidding me?” Derek scoffs. “Liam, of course he’ll recognize his own son.”

“But I don’t-”

“You’re his son, he’ll know you,” Derek says. “Besides, you have his smile.”

The corner of his mouth curls up. “I do?”

“You do,” Derek says. He presses a kiss to the top of his head. “He’ll know you, Liam.” He pulls back. “Oh, there’s one way you’ll definitely recognize him. His jaw is _really_ asymmetrical.”

“What?”

He tries and fails to suppress a snort. “It’s so uneven,” he says, rubbing the side of his face. “This side – it sticks out so much more than the other. You can’t miss it.”

Liam gapes indignantly. “You’ve been telling me about Papa for _years_ and you never thought to bring up his asymmetrical jawline?” he demands. His hands dart up to feel his own face. “Is mine like that, too?”

“No, you got my symmetrical jaw,” Derek says. “He was kind of self-conscious about it. Didn’t like to bring it up.” He smiles fondly, remembering when he used to pepper kisses along Scott’s jaw until his smile wasn’t so embarrassed. “I loved it, though.”

“Of course you did,” Liam says, rolling his eyes. “You’re such a sap.”

Derek shrugs. “He’s worse.”

He sees Liam off at the harbor, and the sailors wave as they cast off. He recognizes most of them, which is good. The suitors may be arguing amongst themselves, for now, but Derek knows that they still want Liam out of the way, preferably as far away as the Underworld.

Braeden sighs as the ship disappears into the horizon. “Be honest,” she says, “how hard was it for you to _not_ tell me to go with him?”

“He’ll have one of Deaton’s nephews to guide him; he’ll be fine,” Derek says. Braeden raises an eyebrow. “Very hard. I’m still tempted to tell you to swim after the ship.”

Braeden rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. I’d at least take a rowboat.”

“It’ll be good for him,” Boyd says. “He’s not a child anymore. He needs to learn how to do things on his own, without us there watching over his shoulder.”

“You telling us that, or just yourself?” Braeden asks. Boyd rolls his eyes and punches her shoulder.

“He’ll be okay,” Derek says, staring out at the empty horizon. “I believe in him.”

“You think he’ll find Scott?”

Derek sighs, turning back towards the palace. “I don’t know.”

 

* * *

 

Scott sits down on the warm sand, watching Derek wade out into the waves. He’s still so fascinated by the beach, by the ground gently sloping away beneath the water, and Scott loves watching him get excited about their home.

Sometimes he worries that Derek doesn’t really like Ithaca, that he’s just pretending to be happy here, but then Derek turns towards him with his glowing smile, and the thoughts fade away. No one could pretend to be that excited about gulls. Probably. He waves at Derek, framed by the sun heading towards the horizon, and then a wave surges around Derek’s waist and knocks him underwater.

“Derek!” Scott leaps to his feet and runs into the surf. Derek still hasn’t resurfaced, and Scott knows that he can swim, but – the currents here are different from Sparta’s rivers, what if he got pulled out to sea? He pauses at the spot he’d seen Derek go under, squinting further out for any sign of life. “Derek?”

Something flies out of the water and tackles him from the side, knocking him down into the surf. He gets back to his feet, spluttering, and stares up at a laughing Derek. “You should’ve seen your face!” he says. “Come on, Scott, did you really think I couldn’t handle a little wave?”

Scott rolls his eyes and heads back to shore. Derek splashes after him, grabbing his hand as he follows. “I know you can take care of yourself,” he says. “I just got…scared.”

“Scared that I suddenly forgot how to swim?” Derek asks, sitting down next to him and kicking his legs in the shallows.

“No, I just.” Scott shakes his head. He’s being stupid again. “I thought I lost you.”

A hand curls around his jaw, tilting his head up to meet Derek’s piercing gaze. “You’ll never lose me,” he says, and presses their lips together. Scott tilts his head to deepen the kiss, sighing as Derek nudges a leg between his.

Derek pushes him gently onto his back, curling over him as waves wash over their bodies. Scott drops his head back as Derek kisses his way down his jaw, squirming against the wet sand, and then his eyes shoot open when something sharp jabs into his back.

Derek sits back immediately, brows snapping together in concern. “Are you okay?”

“It’s okay, probably just rolled on a seashell or something,” Scott says impatiently, trying to tug him back down, but Derek reaches beneath him instead, touching the cut on his back and digging into the sand. “Derek, it’s fine.”

Derek draws his hand back, fingers covered in blood as he holds up a gleaming silver arrowhead. Scott’s breath catches, and the stench of blood fills his nostrils. He grips Derek’s arm, squeezing his eyes shut against the corpses lining the beach, Achaeans and Trojans and every single soldier from Ithaca. “Scott?” Derek asks, and the sand falls away beneath them.

He drops onto his back on the rocky peak, pillowing his head on his arm and grinning up at Derek next to him. “Why do you love coming up here so much?” he asks.

Derek reaches down and threads his fingers through Scott’s without looking away from the stars. “It’s just so beautiful up here,” he says. “When you climb Sparta’s mountains, there’s nothing fun about it. They’re harsh – they have to be, or we would’ve been conquered ages ago.” He shakes his head. “But here? It’s calm. Peaceful. And look at the _view_.” He gestures at the dark island and even darker water with his free hand. “It’s amazing.”

“It’s pretty dark.”

Derek laughs. “Trust me, it’s beautiful.”

“I trust you,” Scott says, smiling sleepily. “I always will.”

Derek looks down at him, eyes wide and stunned before softening with a laugh. “How’d I get so lucky,” he says, shaking his head gently, “that you fell for a nobody like me?”

Scott stills. “You’re not – don’t say that,” he says. His chest tightens, and he tries to catch his breath as the Cyclops’ roar – _Ennis’_ roar – echoes through his skull. He stumbles to his feet, wine hanging sickly sweet on his tongue. “Derek – you’re not – I’m-”

“Scott?” Derek asks. Scott turns away, gasping for air, and –

– steps onto the dock, biting his lip as he tries not to laugh at Derek staring down a gull. He stays as quiet as he can, but the gull cocks its head, turning to stare at him before flying away. Scott sighs. The gulls never did like him.

Derek stands slowly, watching the gull disappear behind the cape before turning to Scott. “They don’t really like you, do they?”

“Never did,” Scott says. “It’s like they knew one day I’d marry someone who actually liked them, and wanted to give me hell about it for as long as possible.”

“They’re interesting,” Derek says. He wraps his arms around Scott’s waist and pulls him in for a kiss. “They’re part of your home. Of course I like them.”

“The gulls and I share a habitat,” Scott says. “They’re not part of my home.”

Derek knocks their foreheads together with a laugh. “Yes, they are.” Scott leans in for another kiss, but Derek pulls away, pointing up at the sky. “Look at that. Isn’t that amazing?”

Scott follows Derek’s hand, watching a gull dive into the harbor. “Very amazing,” he says loyally. “Now, where were-” He freezes in place as the ripples grow and swirl, foaming up into a monstrous whirlpool. The water muddies from splintered wood and fractured bodies, and the metallic tang of blood mixes with salty brine in his mouth.

“Scott?” Derek asks, hand closing carefully around Scott’s frantic grip on his arm. Scott forces his fingers apart, stepping away as his knees give out beneath him.

He sits down on soft sand, tucking his feet into its warmth as he snakes a hand around Derek’s waist. “Is it everything you thought it’d be?” he asks.

Derek turns away from the sunset, lips curving into a smile as he leans in for a kiss. “It’s even better.”

Scott’s eyes slip shut, losing himself in the feeling of Derek’s lips on his, Derek’s fingers tracing his jaw, and the warm heat of his body as he presses closer. The brightness of the sunset glares through his eyelids, glowing into red and orange like a bright flame. He hears the crackling of fire, the wails of a funeral pyre, the terrified screams of Troy crumbling around them –

He pulls back with a gasp, licking bruised lips and trying to push away the stench of a burning city. “Scott?” Derek asks, brow furrowed in concern. He stares at Scott with bright eyes, eyes like seafoam, like the water his soldiers were buried in. Scott shakes his head, fighting the tremors in his shoulders, and reaches for Derek.

Derek bats his hands away and jumps to his feet. “Race with me.”

Scott blinks, hands dropping down to solid ground as he looks around Sparta’s dark walls. He scrambles to his feet after Derek. “What?”

“Race with me,” Derek tosses over his shoulder, leading Scott out of the shadows and into the empty courtyard. “For real, this time. I want to see how good you are when you actually try.”

Scott glances around the empty courtyard. “It’s completely dark out,” he hears himself say, but he stares at the Palladium on the far side, melting away before his very eyes.

He shakes his head and turns back to Derek in time to watch him raise a challenging eyebrow. “Oh, so you’re admitting defeat already?”

Simmering flames light the courtyard, flashing from a falling sword. Ethan crashes to his knees in front of Danny, clutching him close and whispering words that Scott can’t hear. “You’ll do anything to be with them again,” he mumbles.

“Scott?” Derek asks, but he sounds so far away. Scott blinks as the flames disappear from Troy, as Danny and Ethan kneel together in Sparta. He closes his eyes as Derek’s hand closes around his shoulder, as he steps in front of Scott and cradles his head to his chest.

His world tilts. Soft sheets fall across his waist, the ground dips soft and cushioned beneath him, and his outstretched hand brushes across a tree trunk. “Scott?” Derek asks.

Scott shakes his head, burying his face further in the warmth of Derek’s chest. He breathes in the scent of seawater, and olives, and Derek. It feels so real. “Don’t.”

“Scott,” Derek says.

He curls his arms tighter around him, tangling their legs together as he captures Derek’s lips in a kiss. “Please don’t. Don’t go.”

“I never did,” Derek says. He cards a soft hand through Scott’s hair, tracing his jaw with his thumb. “But you have to.”

“I don’t want to. I’m so tired, I just-” His bones sink down into the bed, and he clutches Derek closer. “I want to stay here with you.”

“If you stay here, I’ll never see you again,” Derek says. He kisses his forehead. “Open your eyes.”

He shakes his head, relishing the scrape of Derek’s beard across his skin. “If I open my eyes, you won’t be there.”

“No,” Derek agrees. “I’ll be home. And you promised me that you’d come back home.”

“I did.” He pulls back, swallowing hard. “I will. No matter what it takes.”

“Then do it.” Derek cradles his face gently and presses a kiss to each eyelid. “It’s time to wake up, Scott.”

He opens his eyes. Soft sheets fall across his waist, and his body sinks down into cushions, but the space in front of him is empty, and his outstretched hand doesn’t brush anything but the cold bed. He rolls away from the window, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Oh, you’re awake!”

Scott sits up as a woman walks into the room with a tray of food. His stomach rumbles as the aroma wafts towards him, and he realizes that he’s _starving_. “I’m Kira,” she continues. “You washed up on my island.”

“Hello,” Scott says, watching her closely as she sets the tray on the table. A faint glow surrounds her, like the gentlest of flames. “I’m Scott, but I get the feeling you already knew that.” She nods. “You’re a god.”

Kira giggles nervously. “Oh, it sounds so impressive when you say it like that! I’m just a nymph.”

“Still pretty impressive to me,” Scott says. He swings his legs over the bed, testing his weight carefully. His muscles don’t burn anymore, which should be comforting but only make him feel off-kilter. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“You basically rescued yourself,” Kira says. “I just carried you up to my house after you passed out. That was easy enough.” She pours a cup of wine and offers it to him. “Totally safe to drink, I promise. Won’t turn you into a pig or anything.”

Scott drains the glass. “I trust you.”

“Really?” she asks skeptically, pouring him more. “You just met me.”

“You seem like a trustworthy person,” he says. “Besides, if you wanted to hurt me, you would’ve already done it while I was asleep.”

“But where’s the fun in a sleeping pig?” Kira says with a grin. She pauses. “Actually, that would be adorable. You’ve got a point.”

“See?” Scott says, toasting her with his cup. “Trustworthy. How long was I asleep, by the way?”

“Six years.”

His stomach growls as he eyes a bowl of broth. “Six weeks? No wonder I’m so hungry.”

Kira holds the bowl away from him. “I didn’t say six weeks, Scott. You slept for six years.”

Scott blinks, then carefully sets his cup down before he accidentally crushes it in his fist. “That can’t be right.”

“I’ve been keeping your hair trimmed so you didn’t wake up looking like a total hermit,” Kira says with a shrug. “But look at yourself if you don’t believe me. The calluses on your hands are gone, and the scars on your chest have all faded.”

He looks down, pulling out his tunic. “I don’t have scars on my chest,” he says, even as he stares at jagged lines splintering down his front.

“You do, now,” Kira says. “Looks like they came from lightning.”

“Oh.” He frowns down at his chest, unable to shake the feeling that something’s missing, and then it hits him. “Oh, no. I lost-”

“No, it’s fine, it’s totally safe,” Kira says quickly, placing the small container on the table. “I’m amazed the cord’s lasted as long as it has, but it’s still completely sealed. The mountain ash should be keeping whatever’s inside safe.” She shrugs self-consciously. “I took it off so you could sleep more comfortably, and I cleaned up the container a bit. It got pretty battered, and since it seemed important to you…”

Scott pulls off the lid and plunges his hand into the mountain ash. “Wow,” Kira says. “You just undid six years’ worth of natural healing on that hand. No big deal, though…” She trails off when Scott pulls out the toy horse, tilting her head in confusion. “I don’t get it. Is it, like, a mortal tradition to carry around tiny wooden horses?”

“My son made it for me,” Scott says. “As a good luck charm.”

“Oh,” Kira says slowly. She holds out the container for Scott to put it back. “That’s why it’s so important to you.”

He nods, wincing a little from the burns on his hand as he picks up his cup. “It’s all I have from my family until I can get back to them.”

“Yeah, about that,” Kira says awkwardly. “I don’t know how to break this to you, but…I live on an island, and you don’t really have a boat.”

“Ship,” he corrects absently.

“Scott, you don’t even have a particularly buoyant _log_ to ride on; I don’t think semantics are all that important, right now,” Kira says. She pushes the bowl back towards him. “And you’re not going to be able to row all the way back to Ithaca.”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep for six entire years, but apparently, that happened,” Scott counters. “I’ll paddle my way there on a log if I have to. I’m going home.”

“It’s really not as simple as that,” Kira says. “Drink your broth. Six years sounds like a lot for you, but it’s nothing at all for a god. Poseidon still isn’t happy with you. If he finds you out on the sea, he’ll wreck your boat. Log. Whatever.”

Scott drains the bowl and chews moodily on a hunk of cheese. “Do you know any birds who can carry a grown man’s weight?” Kira stares at him, unimpressed. “Or just feathers, even. I can make a pair of wings and fly home.”

“Maybe you should save the scheming until you’ve been awake for a little bit longer,” Kira says. “I mean, I’m no mortal, but those ideas sound terrible.”

“Do you have any better ones?”

“Actually, I do,” she says, sitting up proudly. “Since I’m a nymph – or, well, a god,” she corrects, grinning cheerfully, “I have a little bit of power. So I’m going to make you a sail while you build yourself a boat. How many trees do you need, a hundred?”

“Um,” Scott says. “Not quite that many.”

“Well, there’s plenty of trees,” Kira says, waving her hand dismissively. “But in order for me to make you a proper sail that’ll keep you safe from Poseidon, it’s going to take some time.”

“That’s fine; I’m just grateful you’re actually willing to help me,” Scott says, nodding fervently. He nibbles his cheese quietly. “…How long, exactly?”

“One year.”

One year. He wasted six years just sleeping, and he wants nothing more than to be home tomorrow, tonight, right now – but he can wait a year. Derek can wait one more year.

Scott hopes that he can.

Kira watches him carefully. “Is that okay?” she asks.

He reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. “You’re helping me get home,” he says. “That’s more than okay.”

 

Kira’s probably the most cheerful god that Scott’s ever met. Well, technically, she’s the first god that he’s actually talked to, and without an ever-present war looming over them, but still. She’s surprisingly cheerful for an immortal being. She shows Scott to the cypress groves on the island, gives him an axe, and leaves him alone while he cuts down what he needs. Once he starts building the ship, though, she brings her loom outside to work next to him.

It’s nice, to do simple work next to someone else, where the sharpest weapon is a small knife to carve up wood, not bodies. It’s nice to talk freely about the most mundane of subjects, no need for strategizing or planning or anything but the present. Kira’s easy to talk to, weaving stories as nimbly as the sail that slowly grows on her loom. She tells him about her adventures with other nymphs, and Hermes, and Artemis. She tells him about Hecate, and Hades, and planting the cypress groves on the island with Persephone.

Slowly, after months of listening to Kira’s stories, he starts to share his own. He tells her about Charybdis, and Scylla, and Apollo’s cattle. He tells her about Ennis, and Jennifer Blake’s winds, and all the soldiers who died. He tells her about Troy. It hurts to tell the stories, every name stabbing through his heart as he recounts their death, but it gets easier. He can’t change what’s happened, and he won’t forget any of them.

He doesn’t talk about Derek, or Liam, or Ithaca. It’s…he tries not to think about it, tries not to hope that he may actually make it home this time. After everything that’s happened, it’s hard to believe.

Kira understands. “You’ve been through so much,” she says. “And you’re so young, even for a mortal.”

Scott shrugs, putting down his knife. “Everyone who went to war’s been through a lot. I’m one of the lucky ones.”

“In a way, I suppose,” Kira says. “You know, you’re the only one left who’s still wandering the seas. Everyone else already made it home or died.”

“Or made it home and then died,” Scott says, thinking of Aiden.

“Well, that family was a mess from the beginning,” Kira says. “I think Ethan’s doing better, though. It took him and Danny…eight years, I think, to get back to Sparta. And your friend Stiles lost his kingdom when he got back. He’s off conquering other lands, now. Doing pretty well for himself, considering.”

“Why’d he lose his kingdom?”

“The gods tend not to like it when you throw a spear at them,” Kira says with a snort. “I mean, I certainly wouldn’t be happy about that, either, but the Olympians, you know. They’re rather dramatic. They don’t just go after you, they go after everyone.” She wrinkles her nose. “Persephone always said it was such a messy way of dealing with things. Said Hades hated it, too.”

Scott stares in disbelief. “ _Hades_ hates when people die?”

“He’s the only one who really understands what happens with that much death,” Kira says. “The other gods don’t see the consequences. When you live as long as they do, mortals are always mourning someone. It all blends together in their heads.”

“Yours, too,” Scott points out.

“Well,” Kira says. “There’s a reason I started living on this little island. I’d forgotten what it’s like being around mortals.”

Scott snorts. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’ll be out of your hair soon enough. As soon as that sail’s done, I’m gone.”

He grins while he says it, elbowing her good-naturedly – and it’s crazy that he can elbow a _god_ without her, like, smiting his arm off – but Kira looks down, mouth twisting. “Yeah,” she says. “I’m gonna miss you, though.”

“But I thought you like being alone,” Scott says, face scrunching in confusion.

Kira huffs a laugh. “Turns out there’s a pretty fine line between being alone and being lonely.” She stands, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It’s getting dark. I should probably move the loom inside.”

Scott watches her pick up the loom and carry it back to the house, then glances up at the sun still high in the sky. He frowns, then picks up his tools again with a sigh.

“So I was thinking,” he says, a few days later while they devour a small mountain of apples between them, “When I leave – what if you came with me?”

Kira looks up at him from around a mouthful of apple, eyebrows climbing into her hair. “Huh?”

“You could come with me,” Scott says. “To Ithaca. There’s plenty of islands, and some of them are really small and uninhabited if you don’t want to deal with mortals, but – there’d be people around, closer by, if you wanted to.” Kira stares at him blankly, and he shakes his head. “Never mind. It was a dumb idea.”

Kira swallows. “You’d want me to live there?” she asks. “You’d be okay with that?”

“You’re a god, I don’t really have to be okay with anything,” Scott points out. Kira rolls her eyes. “But, I mean, why not? You helped me when you didn’t have to, you’ve never tried to kill me or anyone I know, you’re the nicest person I’ve met in…years, actually.”

Kira looks down with a smile. “Aw, you’re just saying that because Poseidon won’t sink your ship if I’m in it,” she teases.

“Wait, seriously?” Scott says. “Oh man, I take everything back, then. I’m gonna tie you to the ship; I don’t care what you wanna do.” Kira laughs, punching him gently, and he clutches his arm as he falls over. “ _Ow_ ,” he groans, rolling on the ground in pain. “Weak mortal.”

“I’m so sorry!” she exclaims, kneeling down next to him with wide eyes. “Are you okay?”

He stops writhing and grins up at her. “Yeah, I was just messing with you. I’m totally fine.” Kira glares at him, eyes narrowing, and he scrambles to his feet as he sees the glow around her fist strengthen. “No, wait, don’t bruise the mortal!”

To be fair, the bruise fades by the next day.

 

* * *

 

Kira sits down next to him, tucking her legs beneath her on the sand. “I’m almost done with the sail,” she says. “Give it another week and then we’ll be ready to go.”

Scott nods. He’d finished the ship over a month ago, but checks it obsessively every day. “Thank you. I really – I really can’t thank you enough.”

She nods and leans back on her hands, staring out at the sunset. “We used to do this a lot,” Scott says. “Go down to the beach and watch the sun set. Derek always loved the way it looked on the water. I thought he’d get tired of it, eventually, but he never did.” He drops his head. “Well, he probably has by now.”

“Maybe not,” Kira says. “I mean, I’m immortal and _I_ still love sunsets. He probably wouldn’t get tired of them after…uh…”

“Twenty years,” Scott says. “Last time I saw him was twenty-” His throat closes, and tears sting behind his eyes. Kira squeezes his shoulder as he drops his head into his arms. “I just miss him so much.”

“I know,” Kira says, rubbing soothing circles into his back. “You talked about him a lot, when you were asleep.”

He nods, biting down hard on his lip and struggling to contain his shuddering shoulders. “I want to go home.”

Kira tilts her head onto his shoulder and doesn’t answer.

 

“Scott,” Kira says slowly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, “You should probably sleep.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to shave my face.”

“Well, I’d rather you shave it yourself, but I don’t really trust you with a blade that close to your face anymore,” Kira says.

He shakes his head and stares out into the open water. “I’m fine.”

“Scott,” Kira says. “You haven’t slept since we set sail.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“That was a week ago.”

Scott grips the edge of the ship. “Bad things happen when I fall asleep.”

Kira sighs. “The cattle and the winds weren’t your fault.”

“And the time I fell asleep for _six whole years?_ ”

“You needed the rest.”

“For six whole years?”

“Honestly, Scott,” Kira says, “If you’d tried to sail home even two years ago, Poseidon would’ve shipwrecked you in an instant.”

Scott makes a face. She’s probably right. Still, “I’m not sleeping until I’m back in Ithaca.”

“Oh, that’ll be a romantic reunion,” Kira snorts. She pantomimes a wave. “‘Honey, I’m home! Zzzzzzzzzz.’” She flops her head down with a loud snore.

Scott shakes his head and turns away, staring back out over the water. Kira leans next to him over the edge of the ship and elbows him gently. “Seriously, though, Scott. You look terrible.”

“You say the nicest things.”

“Get some sleep,” Kira says. “Just for the night.”

He slumps. “Fine,” he says. “But if anything happens-”

“I promise I’ll wake you up if Poseidon tries to drown us,” Kira says, holding up a solemn hand. “Or if we land on some crazy island. Or if I decide to open the bag of winds that we don’t have. But seriously, Scott. You’re not a god. You do actually need rest.”

Scott nods, curling up on the deck as Kira drapes a cloak over him. “Don’t let me sleep longer than one night,” he says. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay.” He looks up at her. “Thanks, Kira.”

She smiles softly. “Don’t mention it.”

He clutches Liam’s wooden container tight in his hand and falls asleep as soon as his eyes slide shut.

 

* * *

 

Boyd stills in the middle of the field, the plow coming to a complete stop. “Liam’s back,” he says.

Derek looks up. He can’t see anything along the road, yet, but Asphodelus’ familiar bark echoes softly from beyond the hill. He grins at Boyd. “You can go run and hug him before he gets to the house,” he says. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“Shut up,” Boyd says, rolling his eyes dismissively, but then he abandons the plow and runs down the road. Derek shakes his head, smiling as he drives the plow off the field.

When he reaches the house, he discovers that his son has lost his beard and gained some muscle, as well as a young companion who’s nearly as short as he is. “Dad!” Liam exclaims, throwing his arms around him like a little boy instead of the twenty-year-old man he is now. “Dad, this is Mason, Deaton’s nephew.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Mason says, holding his hand out politely.

“Likewise,” Derek says, shaking it. “Come on inside. You must be tired.”

Liam opens his mouth. “Actually,” Boyd cuts in, “I could use some help bringing in the nets. Your father’s not as young as he used to be,” he adds conspiratorially to Liam.

“I’m not _old_ ,” Derek protests.

“No, I can totally help,” Liam says, nodding quickly. “I’m sure you’ve had a long day, Dad. You should rest.”

“That’s supposed to be my line.”

Liam ignores him, turning to Mason. “I’ll be right back, okay? Make yourself at home.”

“That is _also_ supposed to be my line,” Derek says, glaring after Boyd and Liam’s retreating backs. He turns to Mason. “Well, come on in. I have no idea what just happened, but any friend of my son is welcome here.”

“Thank you,” Mason says, following him inside. Derek bypasses the suitor-filled hall, instead leading him down a corridor to the kitchens. “Actually, it’s probably because Liam – I mean.” He shakes his head. “It’s not exactly my place.”

Derek fills a bowl of stew and hands it to him. “You’ve been with my son for the past two years,” he says, leaning back against the table. “If something happened, I want to know.”

“It’s just-” Mason fidgets, spooning stew into his mouth. His eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, this is delicious.”

“I imagine most things would be after years on the road,” Derek says dryly.

Mason nods. “Liam – he really wanted to find Scott. That’s why we were gone for so long; we went everywhere. But Stiles left Argos, apparently, and Mycenae – well.” He makes a face, and Derek nods in agreement. “Liam wanted to go north to talk to Jackson, but my uncle hadn’t heard from him in years, so I convinced him not to.”

Derek nods. “He didn’t take it too well, did he.”

Mason shakes his head, taking another mouthful of stew. He chews slowly, mulling over his words before he answers. “It’s just that no one had any information. Well, it seems like a lot of people never really made it back in the first place, but – that made it worse, kind of. The only person we could find was Ethan, who’s apparently the last guy in Achaea who ever saw Scott alive.”

“Before they left Troy,” Derek says.

“I mean, I’m sure Scott sailed with Aiden and Stiles for a while, but they’re gone, now.” Mason puts the empty bowl down, leaning against the table next to Derek. “But we at least know – they made it back home, at least. We found out that much about them. But we couldn’t find that out about Scott.” He sighs. “Oh, and your cousin says hello.”

“Danny?” Derek asks. “You met him?”

“Yeah,” Mason says. He lets out a breath. “I’d heard the stories, but – he is _gorgeous_. Doesn’t look a thing like Liam.” Derek snorts. “I didn’t mean it like that!” Mason says quickly. “I just meant – ‘cause they’re related – but, like, their skin and eye color – Liam’s good-looking, too, in his own way – I’m just making this worse, aren’t I.”

“It’s pretty entertaining to watch you struggle,” Derek says, grinning as Mason huffs. “How was Danny? When you saw him?”

“Kinda solemn, actually,” Mason says. “Didn’t smile much. They only got back a year before we visited them, so that’s probably why, but-” He shrugs. “I could see why Ethan started a war for him.”

Derek blinks. “Really?” he asks, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

“Yeah,” Mason says, nodding. “Danny didn’t smile much, but when he did, it was always at Ethan, _for_ him. Like he was all that mattered in the entire world. And Ethan – it was like Danny was his sun. And his moon. And all the stars in the sky. You could tell they really love each other.”

“Really?” Derek says again, suddenly struck by how much he misses his cousin. It’s been so long, and he’d been so wrong – he wishes he could see Danny again, talk to him, understand what happened to him, what changed him. He wishes he could see Danny happy and loved.

“Really,” Mason says. “Reminded me of my parents a little, actually. I mean, not that ridiculously beautiful, but – I remember when my dad came home from the war, my mom…she cried so much. And he tried so hard not to cry, didn’t want that to be my first memory of him, but.” He laughs self-consciously. “I followed him everywhere for an entire year, because I was convinced that if I let him out of my sight, I’d never see him again.” He shakes his head, looking down. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be talking to you about-”

“No, it’s okay,” Derek says. He reaches up and squeezes his shoulder. “I understand. There’s not many people you can talk to about it, but it’s important.”

“I didn’t tell Liam,” he says. “That’d just be cruel, you know? He never got that. And Ethan was our last chance of finding anything out, so Liam took it kind of badly when there wasn’t anything new to tell us. He just kind of closed up on the road back to Pylos. Didn’t even want to come home.”

Derek stiffens. “He didn’t?”

“Couldn’t face you again, after he’d failed,” Mason says. “Took me months to get him back on the ship. Asphodelus practically dragged him up to the palace.”

“It’s a good thing he saw Boyd first, then,” Derek says. He taps his fingers against the table. “You know, no one thinks he failed at anything. I certainly don’t.”

“Yeah, try telling Liam that,” Mason says, sighing heavily. “He’s…I wish I knew how to help him. I wish I could be there for him.”

“I mean, you’re literally here for him,” Derek says. “That’s…” He trails off as Mason backs away, wide eyes focused over his shoulder. He sighs. “Isaac, put the knife away.”

He hears a clunk, and turns around to see Isaac pouting at him. “You’re no fun, Derek.”

“Mason’s our guest,” Derek says. “Be nice to him or I’ll send Braeden after you.”

Isaac squints. “You wouldn’t.”

Derek smirks. “Try me. Liam’s back, by the way.”

“Yeah, I noticed!” Isaac says cheerfully. “Which is why I made his favorite for dinner.”

“He probably doesn’t feel like eating.”

Isaac wilts a little. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“I could take some food down to him and Boyd,” Mason offers. “I think I remember the way there, and-”

“No, you’ve been traveling all day, you should rest.” Isaac swoops down on him, tucking him firmly under his arm. “I’ll show you to your rooms, you look like you need sleep. Later, Derek!”

“It was nice meeting you!” Mason calls as Isaac all but drags him away. Derek steps out of the kitchen and glares at Erica. “What?” she asks innocently.

Derek narrows his eyes. “What are you up to?”

“Me?” Erica asks. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing is up.” A loud crash echoes from the hall, and she sighs. “Well, aside from the mess down there. You should probably make an appearance sometime tonight.”

“Later.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Erica says. “Don’t go falling asleep on me again, I _will_ come and wake you up this time and neither of us are gonna like it!”

Derek waves absently as he walks down the corridor. He hesitates in front of the bedroom before walking past it. He wants nothing more but to sleep away the night, the next day, the rest of his life, but he can’t. He knows he can’t.

He steps into the dayroom instead, pausing when he sees a mysterious dark-haired woman admiring his loom. “Allison?” he calls. “Athena?”

She turns with a whirl of – darker, straighter, unfamiliar – hair. “Oh, wow!” she says, giggling nervously. “I’ve never been mistaken for _her_ before, I mean – wow. I mean, she’s an Olympian, I’m just a lowly nymph, and – I’m babbling, sorry. Hi!” She sticks out her hand with an expectant grin.

He shakes it slowly. A nymph? Melissa had never told him of any nature gods in Ithaca. “Who are you?” he asks.

She beams. “I’m Kira. I’m new.”


	8. Part VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Full cast list.](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com/post/97926720096/whos-who-in-i-will-wait-aka-my-scerek)

Scott wakes to wet sand clumping under his face and chill seeping into his bones. He lifts his head slowly, spitting out sand and pushing himself to his knees. “Kira?” he calls hoarsely, but silver mist hangs heavy in the air, and he can barely see his own hands in front of him. The roll of the sea echoes behind him, and water laps softly against his feet, but he can’t see the ship further out, can’t see any sign of anything or anyone who took him ashore.

He’s alone again, lost again, trapped in yet another mysterious land. “No,” Scott mumbles, “No, please-” He collapses into the sand, shuddering as ragged sobs tear from his throat. _“Please.”_

“Please, what?” a familiar voice asks. Scott jerks his head up, squinting blindly into the mist until a tall, dark figure crouches down in front of him. “You look terrible,” Boyd says with a smile.

“Boyd,” Scott gasps. He hauls himself upright and throws his arms around his neck, ignoring Boyd’s confused snort. “What do I have to do to get out of here?”

“What?” Boyd asks. “Scott, why would you want to leave?”

“I have to get home,” Scott says. “I don’t know where Kira went, but I probably don’t have a ship anymore. But you’re here, so you’re going to give me a hint to get out of here, right? That’s what Isaac and Erica did.”

“Isaac didn’t give you any hints,” Boyd says. “I just sent him to deliver that.” He pokes the container hanging around Scott’s neck. “Can’t believe you still have it.”

“Of course I do,” Scott says. His heart won’t stop pounding, his hands won’t stop shaking, and a cold sweat breaks out over his body. “I have to get home, Boyd. How do I do that?”

Boyd’s brows crease. “Scott,” he says slowly. “Look around you.”

“I tried that already,” Scott says, sighing in exasperation. “I can’t see a thing.”

“Try again.”

Scott sighs heavily and looks around. As he turns, though, the silver mist fades away to golden sand and green hills. He looks out past the shore and sees the familiar cape, the familiar harbor, and hears the familiar caws of those damn gulls. “I’m,” he says, throat drying. He spins around and stares at the path leading from the beach, the distant mountain and the palace deep within the city. “Is this real?” he asks. “I’m really…” Boyd nods. Scott lets out a sob, dropping to his knees. “I’m home.” He looks up at Boyd. “Derek – Liam – are they…”

“They’re here,” Boyd says, pulling Scott to his feet and guiding him up the road. Scott’s grateful for the support, because his legs can’t stop wobbling. “I’m glad you’re back, Scott. It’s about time.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Scott huffs. “You knew exactly how long it would take for me to get back.”

“Just because you know how something’s going to go, doesn’t make it any easier when it actually happens,” Boyd says. He whistles softly as he pushes the door open, and Scott hears a low whine before a dog shuffles into view. She walks slowly, muzzle completely white, but stares at Scott with bright eyes that seem somehow familiar –

“Pomegranate!” He sinks to his knees, holding his arms out as she bounds forward the last few steps and licks his face eagerly. “You were just a puppy when I left,” Scott says, clutching her scruff. “I could hold you in my hands.”

Pomegranate’s ears perk at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Someone’s coming,” Boyd says. “I’ll go see who it is.” He cracks the door open, and Pomegranate darts out ahead of him.

The door doesn’t latch shut behind him, and Scott edges closer, pulling it open just a crack until the voices aren’t as muffled. “Got the last of the nets,” a young voice says. “And it looks like that mist Athena sent’s finally clearing up. It was nice of her to do that after our ship came in.”

“No one wanted to go out in that weather,” Boyd says. “The suitors didn’t even notice you’re back, yet.” _Suitors?_ Scott mouths to himself. What suitors?

“Good,” the voice says. “Less chance for them to kill me.” The voice gets louder, and Scott quickly jumps back, ducking behind the plow. “Asphodelus, get the door.”

The door creaks open, and Scott finds himself staring at a younger version of Pomegranate. He sniffs out Scott immediately, teeth pulling back into a growl before Pomegranate knocks into him. “There’s someone I want you to meet, by the way,” Boyd says, still outside the shed.

“Can it wait, Boyd?” the voice says. “I’m just really tired, I…” the voice pauses, then sighs. “Fine. Let me just put these away.” A young man follows the dogs inside, and Scott’s jaw drops as he slowly straightens from behind the plow.

He knows that face, for all that it’d been soft with baby fat the last time he’d seen it. He knows that sandy hair, knows those hands clutching the nets as firmly as they’d clutched Scott’s finger right before he’d left. And he knows those eyes, those shining eyes that stared up at him like clear, sun-filled skies. His throat dries as he steps forward slowly. “Liam.”

His son turns towards him warily, muscles tensing as if – as if he were a threat? Scott stills mid-step, hand wrapped tight around the container hanging from his neck. He waits as Liam’s eyes dart all over him, assessing him carefully, and then close in on his face. He waits as Liam wets his lips to speak, swallowing hard as his brows draw together. He waits, hardly daring to breathe, and then Liam says, “Dad didn’t tell me you had a _beard_.”

Liam’s voice cracks on the last word, eyes welling with tears, and Scott stumbles forward on shaking legs. The nets drop to the ground as Liam catches him, holding him upright while he buries his face in his son’s hair. “I’ll shave it off,” he says. “I didn’t always – I’ll-” He laughs helplessly. The last time he’d seen Liam, he couldn’t manage anything beyond wordless gurgles, and now Scott’s the one babbling. “You can _talk_.”

“Yeah,” Liam says, and his laugh sounds as frantic as Scott’s. “Yeah, I – you knew who I was.”

His voice sounds hesitant, nearly lilting up into a question as if he can hardly dare to believe it, and Scott holds him tighter. “Of course I knew who you were,” he says. “You’re my son. I’ll always know you.”

Liam’s mouth wobbles. “Papa,” he croaks out, and. It’s the first time he’s ever heard his son call him that, the first time in twenty years, the first time in their entire _lives_. Scott presses a kiss to the top of his head, smoothing his hair with shaking hands. “Liam,” he manages, as tears streaming down his cheeks and drop onto Liam’s own wet face. “My son.”

Liam drops his head against Scott’s chest with a sob that quickly turns into a faint cry of pain. “Ow,” he mumbles, rubbing his forehead as he stares at the container around Scott’s neck. “What’s that?”

“You don’t recognize it?” Scott asks. He pulls it over his head and opens it carefully, ignoring the sting of mountain ash as he takes out the toy horse. “You sent this to me ten years ago. Do you remember?”

Liam gapes. “I remember making it for you and tossing it into the sea,” he says slowly. “Because Boyd said that it’d-” He whirls to stare at Boyd. “It actually got to him?”

Boyd looks miffed. “You didn’t believe me?” he asks. “Liam, when have I ever lied to you?”

“I believed you when I was _ten_ ,” Liam says. “But when I got older, I realized you were just trying to-” He looks down at the toy horse, shaking his head in astonishment. “It’s impossible.”

“It actually got to me,” Scott says. “Managing the impossible runs in the family.”

Liam runs a finger down the horse’s carved mane. “I can’t believe you kept it this whole time,” he says. “You didn’t have to keep a silly little toy for the past ten years.”

“Of course I did,” Scott says. “My son made it for me. It’s been my most prized possession for the past ten years.”

Liam looks up at him with a watery smile, and then Boyd reaches between them, putting the toy horse neatly away. “I’m really happy for you,” he says sincerely, “but we’ve kind of got stuff to do, and you’re both just standing there.”

“We’re bonding,” Scott says, at the same time that Liam exclaims, “We just _met_ , Boyd, come on!”

“And meanwhile, your Dad is dealing with all of the suitors by himself,” Boyd says.

Scott turns to Boyd. “Suitors?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, letting go of Scott reluctantly. “There’s, like, a hundred of them, Papa.”

“A _hundred?_ ” Scott repeats. “Wow. That’s even more than Danny.”

“You’ve been gone for twenty years,” Boyd shrugs. “They thought you were dead.”

“Dad’s been holding them off for years,” Liam says. “But you’re here, now, so we can get rid of them! Are we going to kill them?”

Scott blinks, then glares at Boyd. “You’ve been letting him spend too much time around Isaac.” Boyd shrugs unapologetically, and Scott turns back to his son. “We’re not going to kill them. They’re citizens of our kingdom.”

Liam looks strangely disappointed before perking up again. “Okay, Papa. So what do we do, instead?”

Scott walks back to the plow, picking up the cloak that he’d dropped. “Nothing, tonight. I need to get a feel for what’s going on.”

“Find out their weaknesses,” Liam says.

Scott nods, fastening the cloak over his shoulders. “I’ll need a disguise, of course,” he says. “Boyd, do you-” He looks up, frowning when he sees Liam step back with wide eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Liam’s eyes widen even more. “Papa?” he asks. Boyd rolls his eyes and yanks Scott’s hood off his face, and Liam sighs in relief. “You looked – different. I couldn’t recognize you.”

“You did say you wanted a disguise,” Boyd says, eyeing the cloak. “Where’d you get this?”

“Kira – oh,” Scott says. He squints down at the cloth, and can just barely make out the tiniest of flashes between the threads. “God-made. Right.”

“You met a _god?_ ” Liam asks, eyes wide.

Boyd bursts into laughter. “Liam,” he says, leaning on his staff as he doubles over in mirth, “Liam, you’ve met _Athena_. Multiple times.”

“Yeah, but so did Papa.”

“Actually,” Scott says, “we never really talked face-to-face or anything. So you’ve one-upped me there, already.”

“Oh,” Liam says. He beams. “Cool.”

 

The hall is a mess. Liam leads him in, dressed as a beggar with his hood pulled low over what Liam tells him looks like an old and scarred face. The suitors jeer at him, which he expects, but they also mock Liam, their only prince. Some watch him with contempt, even hatred, even – Scott recognizes the look all too well, the bitterly calculating expression of one plotting another’s death. It sends a shiver down his spine, to see it directed at his own family. Liam stands tall against the suitors, behaving as honorably as a prince should even while he radiates disdain, but it’s almost a relief when the doors open and Erica leads Derek in.

Almost. Scott’s dreamed of Derek so much, memorized his face night and day, that it’s a punch to gut to see him again. His face is more lined, around his mouth and at the corners of eyes that look so tired. Scott clenches his hands and stays crouched low on the floor, legs shaking from holding them still instead of running to his husband. He’s as beautiful as ever, with his thick, dark hair and piercing gaze, but he looks so exhausted. He looks as if he’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he’s waiting for it to finally roll down and crush him.

Scott did that to him.

As if hearing his thoughts, Derek’s gaze snaps onto him, eyes narrowing. Scott ducks his head, heart pounding, and doesn’t look back up until Derek turns back to the suitors and demands that they make room for the beggar at the table.

Protests break out amongst the crowd, and Scott watches Derek twist their words against each other, coaxing gifts and declarations out of them until they fall over each other trying to impress him. By the end of the night, the suitors glare daggers each other as they leave for their own homes, satisfied and confident in their own chances and completely unaware that Derek never actually promised them a thing. Scott grins after them, remembering the way Derek used to spin him so easily around his finger. He scratches his hand absently as the skin tingles from touching mountain ash earlier.

“That’s quite a burn.”

He looks up as Derek sits down next to him, nodding down at his hand. “What’d you do,” he continues, “grab a flaming torch?”

“Might as well have,” Scott says, forcing a laugh. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve had worse.”

“Hm.” Derek pulls a small bottle out of his pocket, opening it to reveal a salve that smells somehow familiar. “May I?” Scott nods, and Derek dips his fingers in the salve before smoothing them gently over Scott’s palm. “So, what’s your story?” he asks. “My son said he found you in Pylos, but you don’t look like you’re from there.”

“You’re right; I’m not,” Scott says. “Have you ever been to Crete?” Derek shakes his head. “I’m from one of its islands, a really small one you wouldn’t know.” He pauses. “I fought with your husband in the war, actually.”

“Oh?” Derek says neutrally, watching him with the blank curiosity of someone who’s heard the same story over and over again. Only the barest tightness in the corner of his jaw gives him away, and only because Scott knows to look for it. “What was he like?”

Scott shakes his head. “Definitely not the greatest warrior there, that’s for sure.”

His words have the effect he’d hoped for, startling Derek into a laugh and chasing some of the fatigue from his face. Derek ducks his head to catch his breath as he closes the bottle. “You know,” he says, looking up with a smile that seems a little more genuine, “you’re the first person who’s ever said that about him to me.”

“Hey, I say what I see, not what someone wants to hear,” Scott says. “He wasn’t the strongest, wasn’t the most agile, _definitely_ wasn’t the best swordsman.” He pauses. “He was fast, though; I’ll give him that. As long as he wasn’t racing Allison, he could outpace anyone. Came up with a few good ideas during the war, too.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” Derek says. “How’s your hand feeling?”

“It’s-” Scott begins, then realizes that it doesn’t hurt at all. He stares down at his completely healed skin. “How did you-?”

Derek tucks the bottle away with a shrug. “I have my ways.”

Cypress. The salve smells like cypress. Scott tries not to shiver as he wonders what that means, what Kira’s plans are. “Well, thank you,” he says. “Scott never mentioned that about you.”

“He mentioned me?” Derek asks, and there it is again, the edge creeping back into his gaze, the distrust of a lying stranger.

Scott licks his lips, choosing his words carefully. “He mentioned your name a lot. Your smile, your laughter, how clearly he could picture your face in his mind’s eye…” He trails off with a shrug. “Could’ve been lying, for all I know. He left out just about every possible identifiable feature about you. I thought your eyes would’ve been brown, like your cousin’s.”

Derek ducks his head, the corner of his mouth twisting up in a wry smile. “That sounds like him,” he admits. “How’d he look, the last time you saw him?”

“Tired,” Scott says. “The same way you do.” He twists his hands together absently as he mulls over his words. “It was a few years after the war, when I was already back in Crete. There were storms when we left Troy, it took a few years to find Crete again, and then when he arrived, it must have been…” He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, just three years ago.”

“He was in Crete three years ago?” Derek asks, voice too even to be casual.

Scott nods. “He was darker from being out on the sea for so long, and his hair had gotten so long it started curling around his ears. He…” Scott swallows. “He came alone. Washed up on the island, actually. He’d lost all of his soldiers; all the ships wrecked out at sea.”

“They all died?” Derek asks. “All of them? He’s the only one who made it?” Scott nods, and Derek’s brows draw together. “I’ll have to inform their families, send them condolences…if it’s true,” he adds, looking up at Scott as his mouth curves into a frown.

“Have many lied to you about Scott before?”

Derek blinks, and Scott can tell that he’s just barely resisting rolling his eyes. “The war ended a decade ago, and no one seems to have heard from him since,” he says flatly. “What do you think?” He shakes his head. “I have to say, though, your stories came the closest.”

Scott sits back. “You don’t believe me.”

“Of course I don’t believe you; you’re lying to me,” Derek says. He stands. “You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need. We have plenty of rooms upstairs.”

Scott shakes his head. “I’m used to the floor. That’s more than enough for me.”

Derek smiles faintly. “Well, then, you’re welcome to the floor. I’m not sure how my new spouse will feel, though, so-”

“New spouse?” Scott interrupts, sitting bolt upright. He grabs his hood before it falls back. “Begging your pardon, I didn’t mean to interrupt, but – it didn’t seem like you were…well…”

“I’ve just decided,” Derek says. “It’s been ten years since the war, twenty years since my son had a father. I don’t want to him to grow up worrying about his livelihood, worrying for his _life_.” He laughs sadly. “I haven’t been fair to him. What would his father think, if he could see this now?”

Scott follows his gesturing arm, taking in the disarray from the careless suitors. “That he knows you did everything you could, and you kept his family safe,” he says. “That’s what I think Scott would say. That’s all that I think would matter to him.”

Derek’s lips twitch and curve into an unsettled frown. “Thank you,” he says shortly. “I – thank you. You’re very kind.”

He turns to leave, and Scott can’t help but call after him. “If you don’t mind my asking,” he says quickly, “How will you choose whom to marry?”

“Yeah, they’re a bunch of keepers, aren’t they?” Derek says, sitting back down with a laugh. He shrugs. “My hus – Sc – my…former…husband couldn’t marry me unless he passed my mother’s test, so I’ll do the same. Whoever passes my test, I’ll marry.”

“What if more than one passes your test?”

Derek glances around the room, then leans in closer as he lowers his voice. “None of them will. The test is impossible.”

Scott tilts his head. “I don’t think they’ll accept an impossible test.”

“Oh, they will,” Derek says. “Because it’s the exact same test that Scott passed.”

Scott’s heart pounds. He swallows around a dry throat and feigns curiosity. “Your mother gave him an impossible test?”

“By many’s standards, yes,” Derek says. “But I knew he could beat it. So if he could, then surely a suitor worthy of marrying his widower can do the same.”

Scott nods absently, lost in thought. Talia’s speed was legendary in Sparta, but not so well-known in a kingdom as far away as Ithaca. Scott hadn’t even known how impossible the test was until Aiden had jeered at him. “I didn’t know Talia was in Ithaca, now.”

“She isn’t,” Derek says, tilting his head slowly. “Why would she need to be?”

“Well, you said her test-” Scott begins, then realizes his mistake. “I assumed it’d require her presence,” he amends quickly. Too quickly, and he knows that Derek will pick up on it.

Derek doesn’t react, though, just hums absently. “This cloak is god-made, isn’t it?” he asks. “Hides your true form. But if you needed to use it in the first place, that means I can do this.”

Quick as a flash, he pins Scott against the table with a silver dagger – identical to the ones Scott had give to Allison, the ones still belted tight beneath his clothes – pressed to his throat. Scott swallows as the blade cuts into his skin, just enough for a few drops of blood to slide down his skin. “Blood, not ichor,” Derek says. He leans closer until his forehead brushes against Scott’s hood. “I don’t care who you are, or who your parents are, or who you _think_ has blessed you with their favor. You came here with my son for a reason; I know you did. If you touch so much as a single hair on his head, I will kill you. I’ll drag you to the Underworld myself if I have to. Are we clear?”

Scott can’t nod, not with the blade still cutting into his throat. “Understood,” he rasps out.

Derek stares at him for a moment longer, eyes cold with fury, then he draws back, sheathing the dagger in one smooth motion while Scott gasps for air. “You’re my guest for as long as you remain under my roof,” he says, “And you are welcome to stay for as long as you’d like, and eat as much as you want. But stay away from my son.” He turns on his heel and stalks out of the room.

Scott stares after him, chest heaving. “Well, that was exciting,” Braeden says. She holds out a pillow and blanket. “Here. They’re yours.”

“Thank you,” Scott says. He reaches for them, but Braeden grabs his left hand, pinching his thumb viciously between her fingers. “Ow!”

“Shooting pains in the bottom half of your left thumb,” Braeden says. “Ever since you hammered a nail clean through it at the age of ten.” She sits next to him at the table with a grin. “Welcome home.”

He rubs his thumb as the pangs fade. “How’d you know it was me?”

“You’re clever, but you’re not _that_ clever,” Braeden says. “If you’d seen yourself when Derek started talking to you, you’d be cringing. Your mannerisms completely changed. Couldn’t keep anything about your act consistent. Your mother would be so embarrassed.”

“Would be?” Scott repeats. “Is she-”

“I’m not _that_ old,” Mom says from behind him, pulling his hood off as she sits down on his other side. “Hi again, sweetheart.”

_“Mom.”_ He throws himself into her arms, tucking his head under her chin the way he used to when he was little. “I’m so glad to see you again.”

“I am, too,” Mom says. “Sweetheart, we’ve missed you for so long.” She presses a kiss to the top of his head and smooths his hair with steady hands. “All right. Now, what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“Plan?” Scott says. He rubs his neck, and blood smears over his thumb. “I don’t know anymore. If Derek wants to-”

“You saw him,” Braden interrupts. “You talked to him. Do you _really_ think he wants to?”

Scott ducks his head. “He didn’t recognize me.”

“Of course he did,” Braeden says. “But something we’ve all learned these past years is that when something seems like it might be too good to be true, it is. And Derek won’t let Liam get hurt just because _he_ wanted something too much.”

“But-”

Mom stops him with a hand on his arm. “Sweetheart,” she says, “why didn’t you tell Derek who you were? No one else was around; no one would have known.”

“I don’t know that,” Scott says. “I haven’t been here for years. I can count all the people I know I can trust on one hand. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac count as one,” he adds, pointing at his thumb. “I don’t know who’s listening, or who’s plotting against me, or who Derek can trust. I came here with a _god_ and I don’t even know what she wants out of this, anymore. I know Derek can take care of himself and Liam. But I don’t want them to get hurt because I made him change his own plans.” He looks up at them. “Do you understand?”

“We do,” Mom says. Braeden nods next to her. “And do you understand why Derek won’t let himself recognize you for you?”

Scott pauses. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Braeden echoes mockingly, but her heart isn’t in it. “So what’s the plan, Scott?”

The name rings too loud through the hall, hangs too heavy in the air. He can’t keep from glancing around. “Well, I’ll have to pass Derek’s test, first,” he says. “Earn back the right to call myself his husband again. And then…” He shrugs. “We’re going to get rid of those suitors once and for all. Braeden, I want you to get weapons to Liam, somehow. Make sure he’s armed enough to defend himself.”

“And Mason,” Braeden says.

Scott has no idea who Mason is. “And Mason,” he repeats with a nod. “After that, it’s up to Derek. If he wants me gone, too-”

_“Scott.”_

“-I’ll accept it,” Scott continues. “I just want him to be happy.”

“Will you be happy without him?” Mom asks.

Scott thinks of Danny and Ethan, of Allison and Lydia. He thinks of what they’d told him, and the lengths they’d gone for love. He takes a deep breath. “I’ll be happy as long as I know that he is.”

 

* * *

 

“This could just be because I haven’t really been around mortals in months or decades or whatever you call them,” Kira tells Derek, “but I’m really confused right now.” She closes the circle of mountain ash and straightens. “Is this some sort of mortal wedding tradition?”

“It is in this family,” Derek says. He paces around the circle with a nod of approval. “Thank you for the salve, by the way. It’s amazing.”

“It works?” Kira asks. “Oh, good. It worked well enough on the last person I tried, but he’d been hit by god-induced lightning, so you never know.”

“Well, it works well enough on mortal demigods.” He looks up at Kira. “Did Athena tell you anything about one of them sneaking around here?”

Kira shakes her head. “Just gave me a bunch of specific yet still somehow cryptic advice and then left. I hope she didn’t do anything weird to my boat.”

“Ship?”

“Whatever.” She shrugs dismissively. “I never really did understand how Olympians worked. Hades was the only one who ever made any sense, and I think that’s mostly thanks to Persephone. The miracle of marital bliss, you know.”

He walks back down the corridor. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she says, skipping to catch up with him. “You do.”

“I _did_. But that was a long time ago.”

“You’ve got such a positive attitude towards your impending nuptials,” Kira says with what seems to be an attempt at sarcasm, but mostly just ends up sounding earnest. “You’re like Hades in the springtime, all sunshine and puppies.”

He pauses. “Did you just compare me to the _god of death?_ ”

“He’s a good friend, okay? And you’re a good friend, too, and sometimes good friends remind you of each other.” Kira taps her chin. “Actually, you’re more like Hades in early fall.” She slips her elbow through Derek’s as they walk. “This one time, I decided to visit him the day before Persephone came back to see if he needed any help cleaning up.”

“Cleaning up the Underworld.”

“Yeah, exactly,” she says with a happy nod. “I thought he was gonna be all happy and excited, but no! Totally bummed out, super gloomy, wasn’t even keeping track of time anymore. He did keep everything neat and clean, though, which was nice,” she adds. “But apparently, he gets like that every century or so. Gets a little afraid that Persephone isn’t coming back, so he just doesn’t accept it until they’re standing right in front of each other again.” She rolls her eyes fondly. “They’re such a cute couple.”

“The king and queen of the Underworld are a cute couple,” Derek says flatly.

“Way cuter than Zeus and Hera,” Kira says. “I mean, those two…I swear, Derek, every time I check in on them, Zeus’s got another kid. I can’t keep track of them all.”

“Like my cousin,” Derek says.

“Yeah, like – oh, wow, you’re right!” Kira whacks her forehead as she sits down on the couch. “I can’t believe I forgot about Danny. He was such a cute baby. How old is he now?”

“About the same age as me,” Derek says, smiling in spite of himself. Her cheerfulness is infectious; he can’t help it.

Kira laughs. “Oh yeah, huh. I should’ve figured that out.”

“Mortal life is weird and complicated; it takes a while,” Derek says as he lifts a heavy bow down from the wall.

Kira crowds closer with wide eyes. “Ooh, what’s that?”

“A bow,” Derek says, running his hand over the familiar wood. “Over twenty years old, and still as strong as the day it was made.”

“I thought bows were weapons,” Kira says. “Why are you bringing it down to the hall?”

He grins at her. “What good is a wedding without a few weapons?”

Kira bounces excitedly. “I knew I liked you for a reason! Did I tell you about the time I went to Hephaestus and Aphrodite’s wedding? That was a riot. Ares picked so many fights, Apollo threw him clean through a wall…”

 

Liam jumps to his feet as Derek enters the hall. “Dad,” he says, staring at the bow in Derek’s hand, “that’s-”

“My late husband’s bow,” Derek says, and barely even hesitates over the words. Liam’s eyes widen, stunned and wounded as the suitors fall silent, and Derek presses on. “It was given to him as a wedding present, and I shall pass it on to my new spouse.”

“Your-” Liam begins disbelievingly, looking at Mason in confusion as he pulls him back down into his seat. “What – Dad-”

Derek ignores him and turns to face the suitors. “I have decided that it’s time for me to remarry. And since my – former – husband won my hand by passing a test, I will do the same to choose my new spouse. Whoever I choose shall rule all of Ithaca, but the rest of you must swear to honor my choice and leave my family to rule in peace.”

The suitors glance amongst each other, murmuring unhappily before one stands. “We swear, Derek,” he says. “Whoever you choose, we will respect their rule and wish them no harm.”

“I said my _family_ ,” Derek says lightly. “That includes not just my spouse, but my children as well.”

The suitor glances at Liam, lip curling in distaste. “Yes, of course.”

Derek smiles. “You are truly generous,” he says. “Surely such men and women as honorable as yourselves would not be opposed to swearing by Styx.”

The suitors break out into a fresh wave of hissed arguments. Derek smiles benignly as they dither, keeping an eye on the beggar at the far end of the hall. He faces the suitors, body deliberately turned away from Liam and Mason at a nearby table, but his eyes slide to meet Derek’s before quickly darting away.

The suitor finally stands. “We swear by Styx,” he says reluctantly. “We will respect your new spouse, our new ruler, and we will leave and your family alone. But,” he adds, “you must also swear by Styx to choose one of us, and no more making us wait.”

“I swear by Styx, I will marry whoever passes my test,” Derek says. “Tonight.”

The suitors sigh in relief. “Good,” their spokesman says. “Now, what is your test?”

Kira steps up behind Derek and sweeps the mountain ash open. He steps into the center, carefully setting the quiver on the floor as she closes the double circle around him. “Whoever can cross the mountain ash and take my hand, will have it.”

Another suitor leaps to her feet. “That’s impossible!” she snaps. “Only gods can cross mountain ash; everyone knows that. This is another one of your tricks!”

“No trick,” Derek says with a shrug. “Your former _mortal_ king crossed mountain ash to marry me; if you’re truly his equal, you’ll be able to do the same.”

“You’re lying.”

“Are you accusing your _king_ of lying about his husband?” Kira demands, stepping in front of Derek.

The suitors shrink back as she steps over the mountain ash easily. “No, of course not,” the first suitor says, dipping his head nervously. “It’s just – well, it’s impossible for mortals to cross mountain ash.”

“Evidently not,” Derek says, running his hands over Scott’s old bow. “I could change the test, if you’d like. Whoever can string this bow and shoot it through…twelve axes, I think, would suffice,” he says, nodding at the chest of weapons Braeden carries out.

“String the bow?” the suitor repeats, eyeing the bow nervously.

“Twelve axes?” another says.

Derek grins. “Spartan-made, and notoriously difficult to wield,” he says, holding the bow up to catch the light. “The only man I’ve ever seen shoot it is, well, my late husband. Far less impossible than mountain ash, though, so you should be able to manage it easily enough. Of course, if more than one of you pass the test, I’ll have to come up with another one.” He sits down in the inner circle, laying the bow across his lap. “It’s your choice.”

Predictably, the suitors decide to try their luck with the mountain ash. Derek waits patiently as the suitors throw themselves against the barrier with increasing frustration. Braeden settles next to Liam and Mason, whispering into their ears and slipping axes to hide under their clothes. The suitors’ arguments grow louder and louder until the beggar climbs to his feet and steps forward on stiff legs. “May I try?”

The entire hall turns to stare at him. “Humor him,” Kira pipes up from her position between the mountain ash circles. “We could use the entertainment, after all.”

The suitors grumble, but step aside as the beggar approaches the circles. “Kira,” Derek says, and she leans into the inner circle to listen. “Do you know him?”

Kira blinks, straightening with a slightly confused look on her face. “Do you?”

Derek watches the beggar raise a gnarled hand to the barrier. It flattens out against the air, the way a mortal’s hand would. The beggar frowns, presses closer, and looks up at Derek. For a moment, his eyes clear to a warm brown, striking and questioning and so very familiar. Derek feels himself nod as his breath rushes out of him, and the beggar takes a step.

He blinks his eyes shut against the familiar rush of wind against his face as the circle blows apart. When he opens them again, Scott pulls his hood back from his face, smiling hesitantly at Derek. Derek smiles back, and Scott beams before he turns to face the suitors, flinging the cloak away and drawing his sword.

They shrink back with gasps of disbelief. “I am Scott of Ithaca, your king,” Scott says in a clear voice. Derek strings his bow slowly behind him. “You have taken advantage of my family’s hospitality and behaved dishonorably. My husband has granted you the opportunity to leave here in peace, however, and I will uphold it-”

“How do we know it’s really you?” a suitor demands. The others nod, glaring at Scott, and then one hurls a knife at his face.

Kira moves to his side in a flash, snatching the knife out of the air as Liam and Mason flank Scott with their own weapons drawn. “That wasn’t very nice,” Kira says. Derek stands and shoots an arrow after the suitor before she even finishes speaking.

The suitor falls back against the table with a shriek, clutching his hand with an arrow pierced clean through it. He looks up at Derek angrily. “I thought you said only he could shoot that thing,” he says, jerking his chin at Scott.

Derek notches another arrow. “Who do you think made him the bow?” he says, drawing back the string. “The next one goes through your eye.”

Kira taps Scott’s sword, eyes flashing, and the blade bursts into flames. “Get out of my home,” Scott says evenly, and the suitors fall over the tables and each other as they scramble out the door.

“I’m going after them,” Liam says, stepping forward with a determined gleam in his eye. “Just to make sure they don’t try anything.”

Scott nods. “Be careful, son,” he says, clapping their son – _their_ son – on the back.

“I will, Papa,” Liam says. Derek freezes at the name and nearly drops the bow. It’s the first time he’s ever heard Liam say it so easily, so confidently, and – he lowers his arm, clutching the bow between his shaking hands.

“I’m coming, too,” Kira says, bounding forward. “I love diplomacy.”

Braeden raises an eyebrow at the still-flaming sword. “You call that diplomacy?”

“I call that _winning_ ,” Kira says with a wicked grin. She throws an arm over Liam’s shoulders. “C’mon, Liam. I can set your daggers on fire if you want.”

“Really?” Liam asks eagerly as they walk out of the hall. He clears his throat. “I mean, yeah, that could be interesting, I guess.”

Scott sighs. “Braeden,” he says, “can you-”

“Go with them and make sure none of those sons of bitches make it out alive,” Braeden finishes with a nod. “You got it, Scott.”

_“Braeden.”_

“Fine,” she says, sighing theatrically. “Make sure no one gets hurt, and that guy with the arrow in his hand gets treated. You got it, Scott.”

“Thanks, Braeden,” Scott says. He turns to Mason. “Who are you?”

Mason lowers his axe. “Uh, I’m Mason,” he says. “I’m a nephew of Deaton’s.”

“Okay,” Scott says, and hands over his flaming sword. “You can have this. I’m counting on you to be the reasonable one, out there.” Mason beams, and then runs out of the hall, yelling after Liam at the top of his lungs. “…Okay, maybe not,” Scott mutters with a sigh. He turns – finally, _finally_ – to face Derek again. “What was Deaton’s nephew doing here?” he asks.

“Future son-in-law,” Derek says absently. He frowns at Scott – maybe. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were yesterday?”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you _knew_ who I was yesterday?” Scott counters.

Derek crosses his arms. “Because I didn’t.” He still doesn’t know, honestly. He looks so much like Scott, every little detail and mannerism is just like him, but he’s seen how well gods can adopt other forms. Derek has to know it’s him for sure, and he…he doesn’t.

“You – oh.” Scott stops right on the edge of the second circle. “I thought you might’ve…” He shakes his head, staring down at the floor. His brows crease as he notices the line of mountain ash. “Two circles?”

“So what?” Derek asks.

“Well, I mean, I only crossed the one circle last time,” Scott says. “So why two this time?”

Derek had never told him that when he was dressed as a beggar, not in those exact words, so he had to have known…but what if it was a lucky guess. Derek sits down inside the circle, setting the bow aside. “I thought we could talk.”

Scott tilts his head, mouth quirking up in a smile. “I hope you weren’t expecting me to come up with better questions, this time around.”

He feels a hesitant smile creep onto his own face. “You did have a good twenty years to come up with new ones.”

“I did spend a few of those years fighting for my life,” Scott says with a snort. “Just a few, though.” He sits down on the other side of the circle, leaning back on his hands. “You know, I still don’t know your favorite color.”

“I still don’t have one,” Derek says.

Scott huffs a laugh. “At this point, I feel like you’re just being stubborn about it.” He swallows, looking up at Derek nervously. “Derek, I’m sorry I-”

Derek cuts him off with a shake of his head. “You’re here now,” he says, and wishes he could feel as confident as he sounds. The gods trick mortals for a myriad of reasons, and even Athena – he wishes he could be sure. “That’s all that matters.”

“But I – you-” Scott shakes his head. “I thought I lost you,” he says quietly.

“No,” Derek says quickly. “I – the test was just – I knew no one but you would be able to do it.” And gods and demigods, his mind adds treacherously. “I never meant-” Scott looks up at him with a subdued sort of panic, and Derek finds himself thrown back into a long-repressed memory. For just a moment, the hall melts away to warm sand and cool water rushing over their legs, Derek’s heart pounding from getting caught under a wave and Scott’s voice hoarse from shouting. He looks up at Derek with that quiet panic, that ashamed desperation, and his face is older now, lined from the horrors of war, but it’s him, it’s the same Scott that Derek’s always known.

It has to be.

He leans forward and presses his hand against the barrier. “Scott,” he says, voice cracking around the name. “Scott, you’ll never lose me.”

Scott stares back at him, gutted and trembling, winding his hands in the folds of his tunic instead of around Derek’s, and – Derek has to know. He has to know for sure. He didn’t – he didn’t take Derek’s hand, and Scott’s supposed to, that’s what he did before, that’s what only they would know, he doesn’t – Derek sits back, dropping his hand down into his lap. “I’ll have Boyd move our bed,” he says, twisting his hands together. “Back to the window, where it used to be.” Scott doesn’t answer, and Derek looks up. “Scott?”

Scott gapes at him. _“Move?_ ” he manages finally. “You _moved_ it?”

“I didn’t – I couldn’t keep it where it was, after you left,” Derek says. “I couldn’t stand it being there when you weren’t. You understand.”

“But – _move?_ ” Scott says. “How could you-” He sits back, curling in on himself. “You cut it down,” he says faintly, betrayal growing around the edges of his voice. “You – you _cut it down_.”

Derek keeps his face steady. He made a mistake the last time, he told S…whoever this is…too much about Scott, and if he’d just kept quiet, if he hadn’t been so desperate to find him again, then he would _know_. “Cut what down?” he asks calmly.

“Cut _what_ -” Scott spits, hands clenching into fists. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember, Derek, it was only-” His eyes widen, and he drops his head. “Twenty years,” he says, and it sounds like a sob. He nods, blinking rapidly. “I left you for twenty years. Of course you would – I couldn’t expect you to-”

“Scott,” Derek interrupts. “What are you talking about?”

“Never mind,” Scott says. He shakes his head quickly. “I shouldn’t have – it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” Derek says. He leans forward. “What are you talking about?”

“Derek, if you don’t even remember anymore, then it’s not…” Scott trails off, staring down at his hands. “It’s just – the bed. I carved one of its posts from a tree – a living olive tree. So if you moved it, you would’ve had to cut it down, and I-” He shrugs. “But it’s not important.”

“Why would you carve a bedpost out of a living tree?” Derek asks, tilting his head. Liam had never understood, once he was old enough to realize there was something strange about it, and Derek had never really been able to explain it to anyone. Even Erica seemed a bit mystified about it.

“Well, I mean, you know,” Scott says. He shrugs. “Or, well, you did. At some point. But-”

“Scott,” Derek interrupts. “Tell me why.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Scott says, shaking his head. “I don’t-” He sighs at Derek’s expectant face. “I did it because I didn’t want you to feel stupid, okay? But that was years ago, and-”

_“What?”_ Derek stares at him, utterly bewildered. That isn’t – Scott had said –

“I told you it was because you were disappointed that Ithaca didn’t turn out to have trees growing through their houses,” Scott says. “But I know you weren’t really disappointed by that. You were embarrassed.” He shifts his weight and leans an elbow on his knee. “When we left Sparta, it was your first time on a ship, so it took you a while to get used to it and you got seasick a lot. And you laughed at all the sailors’ jokes, but, you were way out of your depth, and you were the only one that far out of your depth, and I know you felt so stupid compared to everyone else. And when you saw the city for the first time, you weren’t thinking that you were disappointed; you were thinking that you were an idiot for thinking of something so dumb.”

Derek blinks. Scott’s right, but… “You never told me that.”

“Would you have wanted to hear it?” Scott asks. “You always used to put yourself down. Laughing with Braeden, _at_ yourself. Calling yourself a nobody. You’d tell me how Danny was better than you at everything. The first time we met, you even told me his _name_ was better than yours.” He shakes his head. “I just didn’t want you to do that to yourself again. So I thought if I did something crazy and stupid for you, you’d stop being so hard on yourself. Even just a little bit.”

Derek lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “You did that for me?” he asks, and wishes his voice didn’t sound so small. “Just so I wouldn’t feel stupid?”

“Yeah,” Scott says. “I mean, a tree inside a house sounded really cool, too, and I was always looking for ways to get you to like living in Ithaca.” Derek laughs softly, remembering Scott’s nervous smile whenever he’d shown him something new. “But it’s been years and you’re still here, so I guess it worked. And if you cut down the tree,” his voice wobbles slightly, “you must not have needed it anymore.”

“I didn’t cut down the tree,” Derek says.

Scott’s brows draw together. “But I thought you said-”

“I lied,” he says. Scott’s mouth falls open. “Of course I never cut it down, Scott, you made it for me, it’s _ours_ , it’s…” He trails off, shrugging helplessly. “It’s everything you just told me. You believed in me when no one else did.”

“Of course I do; I love you,” Scott says, and Derek can’t help the thrill that runs through him. “But why’d you lie about the tree? I don’t…” He trails off, eyes widening. “That was another test, wasn’t it?”

“What?”

“You were testing me!” Scott says indignantly, but his mouth curves into a toothy grin. “’Cause you thought I might’ve been a demigod or something, right, so you were testing me. To make sure it was really me.” He bites his lip, looking up at Derek through his eyelashes. “So, did I pass?”

Derek smirks. “You tell me.”

Scott stares at him for a moment, mouth hanging open, then he lunges forward against the barrier. Rather than landing facefirst in Derek’s lap, however, he digs into the thick line of mountain ash and tears the barrier apart with his own hands. “What the hell?” Derek yells, reaching across the broken line to grab his wrists. He turns his hands upright to look at Scott’s blistered palms. “Scott, what’d you do that for?”

“If I was a demigod, I wouldn’t have been burned,” Scott says, hissing through his teeth as his skin bubbles. “Like you said, blood, not ichor.”

Derek shakes his head. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m _your_ idiot,” Scott says. His eyes crinkle as he smiles, warm and mirthful just like he’d been years ago, before he left, before the war, back to when they met across a finish line that neither of them really cared about. Derek’s breath catches, and before he realizes what’s happened, he’s already flung himself out of the open circle, yanking Scott forward for a bruising kiss. “Mine,” he whispers, biting at Scott’s lip and along his jaw, “you’re mine.”

Scott curls his arms around Derek’s neck. “Yours,” he says, grinning against Derek’s lips. He laughs as Derek heaves them upright, tucking Scott’s legs around his waist as he stands. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to your bed,” Derek says. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten Spartan wedding traditions already.”

“Of course not,” Scott says, but shifts a little in Derek’s arms as he walks to their bedroom. “But we were never…not…married.”

His voice lilts up at the end, too close to questioning. Derek pulls him in closer to nuzzle Scott’s nose with his own. “Call it a renewal of vows,” he says. He lowers Scott onto their bed and leans over him. “Scott, you’re it for me.”

Scott smiles. “You’ve been it for me ever since you raced me in Sparta,” he says, trailing his fingers up Derek’s thighs and slipping under his tunic. He winces as his broken skin snags on the cloth. “Ow. Okay, I’m regretting the mountain ash, now.”

“You’ve made a terrible mistake?” Derek asks cheekily.

Scott rolls his eyes, hitting Derek’s leg lightly with his knuckles, but his breath hitches as Derek pulls his tunic over his head. “Derek,” he breathes. He sits up as Derek pushes his own off, pressing his forehead to Derek’s chest. “Derek, I missed you so much.”

“I knew you’d come back to me,” Derek says. He cups Scott’s face, peppering him with kisses. He’s done this hundreds, thousands of times in his dreams, holding Scott tight with nothing but skin between them. He’s kissed Scott thousands, tens of thousands of times, ran his lips over clear skin and imagined scars, pressed his forehead against one lined from war or soft as the day they met. It’s a rush to actually feel Scott under his fingers, his shuddering breaths puffing hot across his face. This is real. Scott’s here. He’s home. Derek can’t beli –

No. He _can_ believe it. He always has. “I always knew you’d come back, Scott,” Derek says, pressing one last kiss to his lips.

Scott’s eyes fly open as Derek pulls away, grabbing Derek’s arm without a care for the burns on his hands. “Where are you going?”

Derek picks up the bottles from the edge of the bed. “Your hands are covered in blisters, Scott,” he says, opening Kira’s salve. “They look terrible.”

“They’re fine,” Scott says, shrugging jerkily. “I’ve had worse.”

“I know you have,” Derek says, staring down at the lines blooming across Scott’s chest like the branches of a cypress. Scott follows his gaze and grimaces, trying to squirm away, but Derek clamps his legs firmly around his hips and grabs his wrist. “I couldn’t be there for you, before, Scott.” He leans down and brushes their lips together. “Let me take care of you.”

Scott nods and lies back on the bed, holding out his hand. He hisses as Derek rubs the salve into broken skin, and the muscles in his arm don’t relax until Derek presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist. He kisses further up his arm, then pauses, tracing a long white scar with his finger. Scott clears his throat. “I, uh,” he says. “Sorry, you don’t – I didn’t mean to-”

He tries to pull his arm away, but Derek grips it tighter. “Stop that,” he says. “I don’t want you to hide anything from me. I was just a little surprised, because…” He trails off, trying to shake the nasty clench in his gut.

“Because it looks terrible,” Scott finishes, eyes glancing down to his own chest before skittering away.

“No,” Derek says firmly. He curls a hand around Scott’s cheek, pulling his gaze back up to his face. “Because it reminded me of how much I missed. I used to know everything about you, Scott, I knew the stories behind every one of your scars, but…” He swallows around a lump in his throat and smiles waterily at Scott. “I just have a lot of catching up to do.”

Scott leans up for a kiss. “We both do.” Derek nods, kissing him again, then pulls away when Scott leans in. “Hey!”

“I said I have a lot of catching up to do,” Derek says. He traces the scar on Scott’s wrist with his tongue, and feels him shiver beneath him. “Starting right here.” He kisses his way up Scott’s arm, past the crook of his elbow, trailing his lips over another, shallower scar along the side of his bicep. Scott whines low in his throat as Derek nips across his collarbone, arching up into his touch the way he always did, and Derek smiles against his skin before moving down his other shoulder. He pauses at a tangled scar halfway down Scott’s arm, kissing his way all over it and along the smooth skin of his inner arm before stopping at his newly healed palm.

Scott grins, curling it over Derek’s cheek with a satisfied sigh. “I can touch you again,” he says happily, and pulls Derek down over him for a deep kiss, winding his other hand through Derek’s hair. He sighs as Derek kisses his way across his jaw, ghosting his lips over the shells of Scott’s ears to make him shudder.

Derek presses a light kiss to a nick through his left ear before trailing down his throat and mapping out the minute lines flowering across his chest. There’s something almost beautiful about them, no harsh lines from man-made weapons but a design burned into the skin from the gods themselves. He clutches Scott a little tighter, presses his kisses a little harder, grateful that the gods let Scott come back to him. If they hadn’t…

He kisses down Scott’s legs, over the thin lines peppering both thighs. He noses his way across the groove of his hip, pressing wet kisses to his cock as it stiffens under his touch. Scott throws his head back with a groan, tugging Derek back up to crush their mouths together. He presses up against Derek until he’s practically sitting upright, until Derek moves them back to the headboard and pins Scott against it, straddling his lap while Scott digs his hands deep into Derek’s back.

Derek breaks their kiss with a gasp, dropping his head onto Scott’s shoulder. Scott’s hands drift lower, sliding down his back to curve over his ass. Fire pools deep in his gut, and he mouths desperately against the crook of Scott’s neck. “Scott,” he pants, “I need-” He moans as Scott’s hands squeeze tight. He grabs blindly for the bottle next to them, pouring oil over Scott’s fingers before pushing them back down. “Scott, _please_.”

Scott nods frantically, gasping for air as if he’d just run a race. He kisses Derek hard as he slides a finger between his cheeks, as he rubs over his hole. He presses in, torturously slow, and Derek muffles a yell into his skin. It’s so much, it’s not nearly enough, it’s been so long and it’s as familiar as if it were yesterday. He draws in shuddering breaths and presses closer, falling to pieces under Scott’s touch.

He stretches Derek so carefully, so meticulously, holding his hip tight in place. His fingers rub steadily over the spot in Derek that makes his spine arch, makes him press close against him while he pants incoherently for more. He needs Scott in him, filling him, connected with him the way no one else can, the way no one else ever will. Scott nods, brushing sweaty hair against Derek’s face, and Derek realizes he’d been babbling out loud. He whines as Scott pulls his fingers away to slick himself up quickly, and lifts his hips as Scott lines his cock up against him.

His eyes slide shut as he sinks down, mouth dropping open as he stretches around Scott. It burns, sweet and familiar and real, so very real. A whimper escapes from his throat as he settles in Scott’s lap, and he can feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “Derek,” Scott gasps, voiced wrecked and raw. He clutches at Derek desperately, fingers sinking into his skin hard enough to bruise. _“Derek.”_

Derek nods, tilting Scott up for a kiss with shaking fingers. “I know,” he murmurs. Scott lets out a sob when Derek rolls his hips, hands pressing even tighter around him as he sinks his teeth into Derek’s throat.

They move together for minutes, hours, an eternity. Derek rocks his hips slowly, relishing the slide of Scott inside him and his sweat-soaked skin pressed close against his own. Scott’s hands glide over his body, tracing the planes of his back and the curve of his neck. His teeth mark bruises all across Derek’s throat, trailing up to scrape over the spot behind Derek’s ear that makes his knees give out. He shudders all the way down his spine, clutching Scott’s shoulders as he clenches tight around him.

Scott groans into his ear, hips jerking up against Derek’s. He slides a hand between them, closing around him and pumping in time to Derek’s thrusts. Derek grinds down desperately as his thighs burn. “Scott,” he gasps out. “Scott-”

Scott lets go of his hip, yanking his head down to crush their mouths together as his hand twists over Derek’s cock. Derek comes with a shout, muscles tensing as the metallic tang of blood fills their mouths. Scott’s hips snap up frantically before pressing in deep as he follows Derek over the edge.

Derek slumps against him, mouthing sloppy kisses along his jaw as his legs give out. Scott drags sluggish hands over his tingling skin, trying to kiss him back but mostly just bumping their noses together. He laughs, happy and exhausted and near delirious. “We’re so bad at this.”

Derek shakes his head, nuzzling down into Scott’s damp hair and breathing in his scent. “We’re great at this,” he says sleepily. “We’re perfect. You’re perfect.”

“You’re _falling asleep_.”

“No, I’m not,” Derek says, even as he tucks his head down into the crook of Scott’s neck. He licks up a stray drop of sweat. “I’m right here with you.”

“ _On_ me,” Scott corrects.

“My legs don’t work anymore,” Derek mumbles into Scott’s neck. “It’s all your fault; you’re gonna have to carry me everywhere.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Scott laughs. Derek hums, letting his eyes slide shut as Scott maneuvers him out of his lap, wiping them both down before settling him on his side.

His eyes snap open when Scott moves away, and he grabs Scott’s wrist before he can climb off the bed. “Where are you going?”

Scott glances down at Derek’s outstretched arm, then the dirty clothes in his hand, and tosses them onto the floor with a shrug. “Nowhere,” he says, lying down next to Derek.

He reaches out and pulls Scott flush against him, wrapping him tight in his arms. “Damn right. From now on, you don’t go anywhere without me.”

“Deal.”

“I mean it,” Derek says. He leans back just enough to look Scott in the eye. “Scott, I don’t want to be apart from you ever again. Ever. If you have to go somewhere, I’m coming with you.”

Scott nods. “I mean it, too. From now on, we’re staying together. Forever.”

“Forever,” Derek repeats, smiling softly. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me, too,” Scott says. He leans in and kisses the corner of Derek’s mouth. “I love you so much, Derek.”

He presses their foreheads together, reveling in the warmth of his skin as they breathe together. “Scott, I love you more than words could ever say.”

 

* * *

 

Scott returns to consciousness slowly. Soft sheets fall across his waist, the ground dips soft and cushioned beneath him, and his outstretched hand brushes across a tree trunk. “Scott?” Derek asks.

His heart seizes. It’s all so familiar, too familiar, too close to a dream – he shakes his head, burying his face further in the warmth of Derek’s chest. It feels so real, but – but it had always felt so real, before he opened his eyes. He hears himself whisper faintly, “Don’t.”

“Scott,” Derek says. His voice lilts up at the end, curious, unsure, unlike the dreams. Scott curls his arms tighter around him, tangling their legs together as he presses his face tight against Derek’s skin. “Please don’t,” he begs. “Don’t go.”

Derek laughs, and – that’s different. That’s – “I have to go,” he says, and Scott’s stomach drops. “We both have to. It’s already midday. We have to go see the rest of our family.”

“Our family,” Scott murmurs. It all feels so real, but…but if… “But if I open my eyes, you won’t be there.”

“Scott,” Derek says, suddenly serious. Hands cup around his face, pulling him up to meet Derek’s. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut. As long as he doesn’t open his eyes, he can still dream, he can stay here. “Scott, I’m right here. I’ll always be right here.” Lips press to his forehead, his cheeks, his mouth. “I promise I’m here, Scott, please look at me.”

Scott swallows. Derek had never promised him in his dreams, because they never made promises they couldn’t keep, never to each other. Even in his dreams, that had always rung true. “You promise?” he asks, and wishes his voice didn’t sound so small.

Derek kisses him slow and deep. “I promise,” he says, cradling his face gently. “It’s time to wake up, Scott.”

He opens his eyes. Derek smiles back at him, stroking his cheek gently with his thumb. Softs sheets fall across his bare waist, and Scott can see bruises from teeth and fingertips scattered across his body. He lets out a breath, hand scraping across the trunk of the olive tree as he presses his hand to Derek’s face. Derek clasps his wrist gently, turning his head to kiss the center of his palm. “I’m here,” he says. “You’re here. We’re home.”

“Derek.” Scott curls closer, burying his face in the crook of his neck. _“Derek.”_

Derek holds him close. “I’m never leaving you again,” he says, kissing tears away from the corners of his eyelids. “From now on, we’re together forever.”

Memories from the night before come flooding back to him, and his lips curve into a smile. “Forever.”

Derek smiles back and kisses him again before sitting up. “Come on,” he says. “Our son’s probably worried by now.”

Scott sighs happily. “Our son.”

“Yeah, no, he isn’t worried at all,” Isaac says when they finally make their way down to the kitchen. “I told him you were probably just sleeping late, you know, as old people do.”

“We’re not _that_ old,” Scott and Derek protest in unison, then turn to each other with sheepish grins.

“Jesus,” Isaac says, making a face at them. “Haven’t even been together a full day and you’re already acting like newlyweds again.”

“Who’s Jesus?” Derek asks.

“Still too soon, Isaac,” Erica says, leaning against the doorway with Boyd. “Hey, Scott. About time you made it back.” Scott rolls his eyes. “Your son’s out with the sheep, by the way.”

_Your son_. He missed so much, knows so little, but the words still send a thrill from his head down to his toes. He tries not to clutch Derek’s hand too nervously as they head down to the meadow, tries not to smile too eagerly when Liam looks up from the flock and meets his eyes. Liam’s eyes light up, and he drops his cane immediately, vaulting clean over a sheep to run to them. Mason sets down a tiny lamb before following at a more careful pace.

“Papa!” Liam yells, tackling him in a hug. “We took care of the suitors. They won’t bother us anymore, just like Dad made them swear.” He pulls back to hug Derek, and then Scott notices the bruise blossoming over one cheek. “Liam, what happened-”

“It’s nothing,” Liam says, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ve had worse.”

“No, you haven’t,” Derek says. Liam glares. “Why didn’t you let Kira heal it?”

“It’s not a big deal, it’ll heal just fine on its own,” Liam says, setting his jaw stubbornly. “Besides, Mason said it looks cool.”

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up, and he shares an amused glance with Scott. “Oh,” he says. “Well, if _Mason_ said so-”

“Said what?” Mason asks as he walks up to them. “That Liam should’ve just let Kira heal that bruise on his face?”

Liam’s jaw drops in betrayal. Scott tries to stifle a laugh; judging by the way Derek steps on his foot, he isn’t entirely successful. “You said it made my face look cool!”

“And your face looks even cooler when its all healed and healthy,” Mason says, nodding.

Liam frowns. Scott can see him gearing up for a stubbornly doomed argument the same way Derek used to, so he steps in between them. “Mason!” he says loudly, sticking out his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”

Mason shakes his hand, firmly but with a tinge of nerves. “It’s an honor to meet you,” he says. “My uncle’s told me so much about you.”

Scott smiles. “Well, of course I’m happy to meet my son’s betrothed-”

_“Betrothed?”_ Mason and Liam squawk in unison. “We’re not-” Liam stammers, immediately letting go of Mason’s shoulder and then wrapping an arm around his ribs anyway. “I mean – he’s like a cousin to me?”

Mason raises his eyebrows at Liam. “Cousin?” he repeats. “Really?”

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t have any cousins.”

Derek steps closer to Scott as the two bicker. “They’re not betrothed,” he says softly, eyes dancing with amusement.

“But you said-” Scott begins. He stops, glaring at Derek’s smirk. “Derek!”

Derek drops his head to whisper into Scott’s ear. “Well, they’re not betrothed _yet_.”

Scott glances at the two, arguing all the way back to the sheep and not straying any further than an arm’s length from each other. “Yeah, I can see that,” he says. He grins up at Derek. “So, are you gonna make him race you for our son’s hand?”

“Are you kidding me? He wouldn’t stand a chance,” Derek says with a snort. “I’ll make him race you.”

Scott’s mouth falls open, squinting at Derek in faux-betrayal. “I’ve gotten a lot better!”

“I’m sure you have,” Derek says. The dogs rush past them and start herding the sheep back to the pens. “Looks like it’s time to head back.” He turns to start down the path, pausing when Scott doesn’t lead the way. “What’s wrong? You forgot the way back?”

Scott shakes his head as he jogs to catch up to him. “I could never forget my way back to you.”

Derek ducks his head with a smile, holding out his hand. Scott takes it and follows him home.


End file.
